Only Three Weeks
by souleswanderer
Summary: House is forced to take a vacation, and takes things into his own hands. Only some times, things never go as planned. Set after the Vogler and Stacy arcs. House/OC
1. Chapter 1

House glared at Cuddy as only he could glare. Most folks would have withered under that look, yet she managed to keep her composure while returning his gaze evenly, knowing his weren't the only eyes trained on her. His were the only ones that mattered at this moment.

Years of working as a hospital administrator had taught her to be granite. To finely hone the ability to turn friendship off and allow the more sensible and less emotional side of her persona to emerge and become the boss. The ruler with an iron hand and with the man seated at the other end of the table, she'd learned to perfect that trait, or at least the mask she dropped in place.

It was on these particular types of days she wished she could rant, rave and scream at him, maybe beat on him with her fists and pray for once she would be able to convince him to not be so damned stubborn. But she of all people knew the chances of that ever happening were about the same as asking Niagara Falls to flow backwards. If there was one thing she could count on in life, it was House being House.

"Three weeks House," she stated trying to remain coolly professional, almost clinical as she dropped her gaze, unable to deal with the look of betrayal in his eyes.

"So you want me gone. You want me to leave, to just run away," he accused her in a low menacing tone. Cuddy could only shake her head, how could she make him realize this was his only option left without having to outright suspend him?

"No, House," she began to explain it slowly and patiently again as if talking to a child, yet wanting every person in the room to understand at the same time. "You'll be attending the Inter-Continental Medical Seminar as a guest lecturer. One seminar and three panels, along with a few lectures I'd like you to attend and send back a report."

House's facial features lengthened as his eyes went wide at her announcement. Cuddy took advantage of his momentary lack of speech and continued.

"As it stands on your record you have accumulated too much vacation and rather than losing time, the board is recommending that you take at least two weeks of personal leave after the seminar."

House scoffed. "Recommending? Why don't you just say suspended?"

Cuddy sighed. "You are not being suspended; you will be taking a _vacation_ and still getting paid."

"Lame excuse," he shot back angrily and Cuddy flinched. It was a lame excuse, but it was the only excuse she had without actually going along with the board's previous counsel of outright suspending him and succumbing to the prosecuting lawyers demands, which meant without pay and another write up in his file. The latter of which he could ill afford right now.

Cuddy quickly began gathering the loose papers in front of her trying to keep the trembling of her hands from being noticed as she fought to straighten the unruly pile, and finally just started pushing them roughly into her folio.

"So what happens when the next big donor is dying and you realize you need me?" his voice was now softer, almost pleading with her to reconsider.

Cuddy knew he was reaching for straws, any excuse to remain and work where he could immerse himself in something other than boredom. Left to his own devices House would probably go stark raving mad, he needed the puzzle, the inquisitive part of him wouldn't allow him to rest, which is why she was sending him to California for the seminar. Maybe there he could find something to occupy himself. "I'm sure we will manage just fine for the few weeks you're not with us. Foreman, Chase and Cameron will be assigned clinic duty and asked to report to other departments for the length of your absence. Should anything arise we can always reach you by phone," she added.

"That's the final offer?" he interjected. Cuddy shoved the papers forcibly into the folder, not caring anymore if they were straightened or wrinkled; she wanted to be gone from here.

"That's the only offer," her voice carried a note of finality.

"Thanks for nothing," he mumbled this time directing his pointed look at Wilson who was studiously twirling a pen between his fingers and straightening his tie with the other hand, being careful not to meet his friends gaze. House faced down every board member, most of whom were unable to meet the Head of Diagnostics icy stare and those that did found themselves quickly averting their eyes, knowing he was right. Cuddy continued her assault on the paperwork and refused to look in his direction.

House was the first to leave the room, followed by lengthy exhales and a hurried departure of others, most lost in their own thoughts and eager to escape the confines of the room. He immediately headed towards his office striding purposefully, as well as a man with a cane could and giving the impression he was a man on a mission and not the chastised individual that had just had his next months itinerary dropped on him like a verdict of a guilty sentence from a jury.

The knuckles grasping his cane were white and his limp was more pronounced and Cuddy couldn't help feeling a twinge of remorse as she watched him storm away. The gentle squeeze on her arm from Wilson, offering quiet support as he passed gave her a small wave of relief and comfort in the idea she still had one ally, which was all it took to get her moving towards her own office where she would finish making the final plans to get House on a plane to California.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

When House reached his office, by all outward appearances, nothing seemed to be amiss. Well aware of the three sets of eyes studying, following and analyzing his every move through the glass partition that separated his office from the ducklings, he refused to acknowledge their existence and kept his back turned to the conference room.

He had nothing he wanted to say to them and had no inclination to listen to their opinions on his current plight. Foreman's sarcastic smugness, coupled with Chase's feeble attempts at indignation he could easily avoid and turn to a quick advantage, but the thought of having to deal with Cameron's sugared sympathies while her eyes looked on him with pity spurned on his actions and hardened his resolve.

He propped the cane against the side of the desk, leaned over retrieving his backpack from underneath and threw the few items he considered important; the PSP, his Ipod, and a few medical journals before setting it on the desk, not bothering to clear a space. He listened to the dull thumps fade as the red and grey tennis ball bounced across the floor and rolled to a stop beside the bookcase not wanting to consider the implications.

Quickly zipping his leather jacket he shouldered the pack, threw a cursory glance towards the outside, and was instantly reminded that he had caught a ride with Wilson that morning. He resigned himself to the idea he was now forced to use public transportation, and silently cursed the grey, gloomy, winter weather, not only an indication of his present mood but his current outlook as well. He left his office without a backward or sidelong glance.

**+house md+house md+**

Cameron was the first to speak as House disappeared down the hall.

"Wonder what that was all about?"

"We'll find out soon enough." Foreman replied as he filled his coffee cup.

"You're not even the least bit curious?"

Foreman shrugged, sipping the hot liquid and turning back towards the table. "If he'd have wanted us to know, he would have said something."

Cameron glanced quickly at Chase, who chose to keep his head down, pencil poised over the crossword puzzle in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the others. She leaned back folding her arms and stared curiously at Foreman.

"Look, whatever they do or did to House, we are going to find out one way or another—" he began setting his mug on the table as Cameron interrupted.

"I can't believe you don't care." she stated emphatically, leaning towards him as he took the chair opposite her.

"I do care, because whatever happens to the ass—" Cameron cringed at the name as Forman continued. "We all get caught in the fallout. Whether we hear it through the rumor mill or from Doctor Wilson—" his words were swallowed as Wilson stepped into the room.

"Hey." Wilson stopped half inside the room with one foot still in the hallway and held the glass door ajar, his eyes already taking in the empty office across the way.

Chase looked up from his book and Cameron confirmed Wilson's suspicions.

"House already left."

Wilson only nodded, a look of resignation quickly masked as he turned to the three doctors.

"Doctor Cuddy has your clinic hours posted, and is asking if you won't mind helping out in the various departments for a few weeks. Each of you may take a week off, staggered of course, if you wish." He paused; his eyes flickering back to the empty office.

"They suspended him?" Cameron asked. Wilson shook his head and held up his hand as both Cameron and Foreman began questioning him.

"He's attending the Inter-Continental Medical Symposium." Chase let out a low whistle. "Then he'll be taking two weeks of personal vacation." Wilson finished quietly.

"So they didn't suspend him, just forced him out for three weeks?" Foreman put their thoughts into words.

Chase earned a glare from Cameron as he questioned Wilson. "I thought one needed an invitation to attend the symposium, and wouldn't it have made more sense to suspend him?"

Wilsons jaw clenched even as he let go of the door, his foot stopping it and keeping it open as a small escape, even as he began to rub the back of his neck. He was saved from answering Chase as Cameron spoke up, and quickly bit back his own response.

"He's one of the leading diagnosticians in the world, and I can attest to the fact that he usually has an open invitation to any conference he chooses to go to."

Chase shook his head, eyes riveted on the pencil twirling back and forth in his hand. "I just meant, I don't see why they decided to have him disappear. It's not like this will blow over quietly if House's reputation and previous actions are anything to go by."

"You don't get it," interrupted Foreman. "He did everything he could to save the patient without resorting to anything illegal for once, and you are still unwilling to give the guy a break. What's with you?" Foreman spat at him.

Chase eyed Foreman casually. "If it had been any of us, we would already have been fired." he replied, leaving Foreman staring at him open-mouthed, knowing the younger man wouldn't admit House was in the right.

"If it had been any of us, the patient wouldn't have lived as long as she did." Cameron stated quietly.

"I'm just saying, House isn't always right and sometime he's going to take the fall for it."

"Get over Vogler." Cameron's look dared Chase to continue arguing. Instead he opted to close the puzzle book, using the pen as a place marker and walked over to the coffeepot.

Wilson sighed and turned to leave, the tension in the room was beginning to overwhelm him, better to let them argue it out amongst themselves. There was still quite a bit of fallout from Vogler's short term as chairman of the board, but before he could lose himself in those thoughts Cameron's voice broke through.

"Doctor Wilson?"

"Yes?" He paused momentarily, holding the door and waited.

"They're not going to fire him. Are they?"

Wilson shook his head, his hand moving from his neck to his forehead, the steady dull ache behind his brow was slowly building in intensity. "No, Doctor Cameron, House isn't going to be fired." At least he hoped the outcome wouldn't prove his words differently, but he wasn't going to trouble them with his own thoughts.

Wilson walked away not caring to listen to the rest of the argument that would ensue, now that he had delivered the news about House, he headed towards the elevator intent on stopping downstairs to talk with Cuddy before his next consult. He pressed the elevator button, watching as the dull white circle lit up underneath his fingernail and released it only when the doors opened and the small circle darkened again. He leaned back against the wall staring at the ceiling, wondering what if anything could change in three weeks with House not there.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson nodded politely to the new face peering over the computer screen, and was given the go ahead to enter Cuddy's office. Normally he would have introduced himself, but today his mind was preoccupied with a particular diagnostician. He still knocked on the office door out of habit before sticking his head inside. Cuddy waved him in the rest of the way, and Wilson waited while she finished her phone call and replaced the receiver.

"Reservations are set," she began, setting a manila envelope off to the side. "Would you mind delivering them, when you head back upstairs?" her voice trailed off, and she leaned back in her chair. "He's already gone," she stated flatly, studying the expression on Wilson's face. Wilson nodded and Cuddy reached for the phone again. "In that case, I'll have them delivered."

Wilson reached for the envelope. "I'll save you the delivery charge. Besides, someone needs to make sure he packs a suit."

"You don't have to do that," Cuddy replied, but made to move to stop him as she gently set the receiver back down.

"Deliver the tickets or pack the suit?" he answered lamely and shuffled uneasily as he stared at the golden brown envelope in his hands. House's plane ticket and itinerary for the conference were sealed inside, and Wilson could almost hear House whining about his prison sentence now.

"Either one." Cuddy fixed Wilson with a calculated look she'd perfected over the years. "He's a grown man, and as long as you let him take advantage of you, he will continue to do so." When Wilson didn't respond, she picked up the stack of folders that needed signatures and deliberately dropped them in front of her. Wilson's head snapped up and Cuddy continued. "We all care about what's going to happen to House, but for now, it's out of our hands," she reminded him in a gentler tone.

"For once, I think he's getting the short end of the stick, and his staff is going to have more questions," Wilson sighed heavily, dropping his gaze again. He wasn't sure if he should fell a bit of relief from getting the statement off his chest or resigned panic, knowing what he would be dealing with shortly.

"I'll deal with them," she paused with her pen poised above the papers on her desk, caught his eye and reassured him. "It's only three weeks, everything will turn out fine." she said, her tone of voice once more that of hospital administrator. Wilson nodded and turned to leave, stopping when Cuddy called to him. "Was there something else, Doctor Wilson?"

He stared at the door in front of him, his reflection staring back and wearing a worried frown. He could think of a dozen questions to ask, yet each of them would have sounded lame spoken aloud. "No," he heard himself say as he pushed open the door and waving the envelope he took his leave. Some things were better left unspoken he thought, as he backtracked to his office.

He hurried his pace, noticing the clock above the nurse's station claimed he was already late for his consult, but the excuses running through his head weren't how to explain his tardiness to his patient, but rather, how to explain to Julie he wouldn't be home this evening.

**+house md+house md+**

Stamping his feet at the top of the step, he rapped loudly and pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any signs of life over the sounds of passing vehicles behind him.

"House, it's me. Open up." He heard the unmistakable sound of the television raise in volume. "I know you're in there, and I'm not going anywhere until you open up," he shouted at the solid barrier in front of him. He switched the large, steaming cardboard box to his other hand and placed the six pack of beer on top of it, then kicked the door solidly with his foot, grimacing with the effort. One way or the other he'd force the occupant to acknowledge him.

He fell forward, barely catching himself as the door swung open unexpectedly and gave an exasperated look at the owner who stood above him silently watching. "Brought food and beer," he offered. House's expression didn't change at the sight of the meal; instead he turned and limped back to the sofa completely ignoring Wilson and plopped himself down, pointing the remote at the television once more.

Wilson was forced to squint upon entering the apartment as the only light in the room came from whatever program was currently airing. Luckily it appeared to be WWF and therefore lots of flashing strobe lights, making the shadows dance wildly about the room, but it gave him enough light to maneuver in.

He set the pizza on the small wooden island in the kitchen before opening the refrigerator and putting the remaining beer inside. The wire racks held a half gallon of outdated milk, a block of cheese that had long ago turned into a science experiment and the requisite jar of peanut butter. Wilson shook his head, wondering how one man lived on such bare sustenance, then recalled all the filching of his lunches as he let the door close, bathing the kitchen in darkness again. He reopened the door, reached above the sink for plates and shutting the door again, picked up the pizza and two beers.

No words were spoken as Wilson handed House a plate with two thick slices of pizza and an already open beer. House accepted them without a glance toward Wilson, his eyes glued to the match. Two long-haired men, their sweat soaked bodies locked in a struggle of force, muscles bulging under the strain, faces determined as they expended large amounts of energy to best their opponent. Wilson took a seat on the opposite side of the sofa, biting into his own pizza and stretching his legs out onto the coffee table. The two men ate their fill, an occasional belch breaking the silence as the grunts and yelling onscreen continued.

The match ended with the louder of the two assailant's victorious and yelling more childish insults at his rivals and the audience, driving the crowd into a wild frenzy. Wilson watched House limp towards the kitchen and grabbed the remote, turning the volume down to a more manageable level.

"I was watching that," House whined as he handed Wilson a beer.

"You can still watch," began Wilson.

House rolled his eyes and resumed his position on the sofa. "I was _listening_ to that," he replied petulantly, reaching for the remote as Wilson's arm swung away from House.

"Give me," its owner growled, leaning over and planting an elbow into Wilson's thigh while stretching an arm over his body to snag the grey box.

"House," Wilson squeaked in surprise as the bottle House held tipped into his lap. He jumped up knocking House onto the floor and stood straddle-legged, staring open-mouthed at the dark stain growing larger on his slacks. "I can't believe you just did that." He swiped lamely at the wet spot as House looked up at him, a triumphant grin on his face as he waved the remote in his free hand and turned back towards the TV.

Wilson toed his shoes off and unbuckled his belt, House waved him off. "Not a strip club and not interested," he stated loudly, turning the volume up once more as the next set of fighters entered the ring.

Shaking his head in frustration Wilson made his way to House's bedroom, he wasn't about to sit in beer-soaked trousers the rest of the night. He grabbed a pair of grey sweats out of the drawer, which he quickly swapped for his wet clothing and noted the empty suitcase sitting on the bed. Now he understood House's plan, the manipulative bastard couldn't ask for help and wasn't about to pack for himself.

Dropping the suitcase next to the sofa, House glanced over. "Going somewhere?"

"You are," Wilson stated, walking past House to the small desk where he'd left the envelope with House's itinerary. He tossed it casually into the other man's lap and took his seat at the end of the sofa once more.

"Not interested." House tossed the envelope back to Wilson who almost spilled his own beer as he tried to catch the packet. He slid it onto the cushion between them.

"No choice in the matter."

"Exactly why I don't want to go." House took a long swig of his beer, his eyes never wavering from the screen.

"So, you'd go if it was your choice to go?" Wilson mused aloud, keeping his eyes on the back of House's head. "I figured of all folks, just the free buffet lines and open bar would be tempting enough."

"And listen to idiots spout ridiculous theories, while being bombarded by pharmaceutical companies wooing the unsuspecting." He winced at the last and Wilson knew that Vogler had surfaced in his thoughts.

"Don't forget meeting old acquaintances," Wilson began reminiscing about the various conferences he had attended. "And it's a great time to catch up on the newest gossip, check out the up and coming, and the Sunday morning gol—"

Wilson realized his mistake too late as House scrambled to his feet awkwardly, leaning heavily on the coffee table and reaching for his cane. Hobbling as quickly as he could towards the bedroom he snarled. "Yeah, I'll be sure to pack my irons." He slammed the bedroom door effectively ending any further discussions.

Wilson rubbed a hand over his tired face, turned the television off and cleaned up the remains of dinner, before finding a blanket and extra pillow and throwing them on the couch. He picked up the envelope and opened it to find out when House's flight left. One of them had to be responsible he told himself, then placed the envelope on top of the suitcase.

He stared upwards at the ceiling, watching the passing headlights sweep across the ceiling in elongated lines and thought about how things might have been different if House hadn't pushed Stacy away this time.

For a short time, Wilson had believed he had his old friend back, the one that could see beyond his disability and enjoy life, and then suddenly he'd gone into a deep funk and seemed to be trying to push away everyone that cared about him. Well, House wasn't the only one that could be stubborn he thought, rolling over and closing his eyes.

The alarm came all too early.

**Authors Note : All mistakes are mine, and constructive criticism is always welcome. I'm eager to learn and improve, so don't be shy. Thank you.**


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't the obnoxious bleep that Wilson normally associated with his alarm that was tugging at his consciousness. He heard a groan as he rolled onto his back, vaguely aware that it had come from him, and reached out blindly to grasp the phone he'd left on the coffee table.

Feeling the familiar object he flipped it open and squinted at the bright screen, emitting another groan and let his hand drop to his chest. Too early for the alarm, he thought, wondering if he'd awakened himself with a dream.

He yelled in fright when a voice above him stated. "Oh, good, you're awake."

"Jee-sus, was it your idea to give me a heart attack?" Wilson threw an arm over his eyes in protest against the light that suddenly flooded the room.

"House," he whined, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "It's four am."

"Wouldn't want to be late on the first day of camp," he sing-songed cheerfully.

"You flight doesn't leave until nine-thirty," countered Wilson, his voice thick with sleep, as he pulled the blanket over his head and turned his back on House, hoping he would get the message.

Thump, thump, thump. The cane bouncing against the sofa convinced him otherwise.

"Whadd'ya want?" he mumbled from under the covers.

"Breakfast." Came the simple response, the cane continued its pattern of torturous banging against Wilson's makeshift bed.

"Pizza," Wilson answered, finding himself staring at darkness and contemplating caneicide.

"It's co-old."

Wilson pulled the covers down and blinked at House. "That's never stopped you before," he glowered, swinging himself into a sitting position.

House took advantage of Wilson vacating an end of the sofa and promptly sat down, reaching for the remote. The glare of the television added to Wilson's misery as he placed his head in his hands.

"So, breakfast?" prompted House, finding an episode of Sponge Bob to watch. Wilson leaned back in defeat and crossed his arms, letting his chin drop to his chest as he absently watched the cartoon on the screen. A twenty dollar bill was thrust in his face. "I'll buy," House offered.

Wilson snatched the bill from him before he could think twice, and made his way to the bathroom. "You're impossible, you know that?" snapped Wilson, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

House settled back and propped his foot on the coffee table, grinning smugly.

Thirty minutes later, and a new episode beginning, Wilson reentered the apartment, carrying a small grocery bag. He threw a container of orange juice at House, who caught it deftly, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Why are you feeling so guilty about all of this?" House asked, entering the kitchen and eyeing his friend speculatively. Wilson shrugged and flipped a pancake, before sliding eggs and sausage onto a plate. "You did nothing."

"And neither did you—" Wilson slid the plate onto the table and turned back to the stove. "This time."

"You can't make everything right by caring."

"Well forgive me for actually giving a damn," Wilson shot over his shoulder, the spatula scraping roughly across the pan.

"Thanks."

Wilson froze, spatula held in midair, unsure he had heard the soft spoken word. That was a word he didn't think House had in his extensive vocabulary, much less understood its usage. Shaking himself from his reverie he served himself, and carried the extra pancakes to the table, joining House in a silent breakfast, glad now, that he'd gone to the trouble to make the macadamia nut pancakes for his friend.

They ate in silence once again, House stealing the last pancake from Wilson's plate when he went to refill their coffee.

"I still can't believe she's sending me to Alcatraz," House stated, staring out the window at the scenery slowly taking form in the morning light.

"A medical convention in San Diego is not Alcatraz," Wilson pointed out patiently.

House shrugged. "San Diego, San Francisco, all Fathers full of brotherly love," he shot back sarcastically.

"Maybe you should learn some of that while you're there, might improve your bedside manner, at least smooth out the rough edges. Cuddy could have just suspended you."

"Would have saved me from having to put on a dog and pony show for a bunch of idiots, at some ridiculously overpriced and uppity hotel clear across the country."

"Yes, I'm sure that was going through Cuddy's mind at the time. Wait—you really would have taken a suspension?" he asked incredulously.

House began rubbing his right thigh and still refused to face Wilson. "She wouldn't have suspended me. The diagnosis was correct, too late for the patient, but still correct. I did my damn job, and now she's succumbing to pressure from some two-bit lawyer," he spit out.

Wilson kept his voice calm as he wove in and out of traffic. "With the number of patient complaints and the other two cases still pending, he's got a giant foot in the door. And that two-bit lawyer, just so happens to very good at what he does. They didn't nickname him the Executioner for nothing." House continued to look out of the side window.

"All Cuddy is asking you to do, is to lay low for a few weeks. Let the lawyers fight it out. Besides, when was the last time you got out of town for anything?"

House pulled out the amber pill bottle and downed two Vicodin. "Does it matter?" He shoved the pill bottle back into his pocket and stared at the cane he's twisted in his hands.

"Once the convention is over, you can pretty much do anything you want. Hell, take a real vacation; it might do you some good." Wilson ignored the glare House gave him, as the volume of the radio raised, drowning out any further efforts at conversation.

They managed to stay ahead of the early rush hour traffic and found themselves at the airport an hour and a half before House's flight was due to leave. Wilson wheeled the suitcase and clothes bag to the check-in and handed House his backpack.

"After the conference?" he asked hesitantly, approaching the subject he'd avoided all night. Cuddy had told him to take two weeks personal time and Wilson had noted the plane ticket was only one-way.

House shrugged noncommittally. "I'll call if I need a ride," he avoided the question, handing his ticket to the counter agent for verification.

"One way to San Diego, Doctor House?" she stated cheerfully, sliding his id and ticket back to him.

"That or hell," he mumbled loud enough for Wilson to hear.

"I'm sorry?" the agent queried and Wilson grabbed the envelope, shoving it at House as he turned them from the counter.

"Thank you," he smiled back at her, directing House towards the security line. "No need to be rude, she was only doing her job," Wilson chided him.

"Yes, Mommy—" House blinked innocently and cocked his head to the side, shifting his backpack to the conveyor belt and pulling out his Ipod.

"I'll miss you too, House," Wilson said quickly, watching the electronic items being placed into the plastic basket. "Call me?" He beseeched the retreating back, as House passed through the detector and collected his things. A half glance backwards was the only acknowledgement he received, as House departed.

Wilson only felt a tiny wave of relief, as he turned and made his way back to the vehicle. Thoughts of what could be going through House's mind, keeping him more than occupied on the trip back to Princeton.

**+house md+house md+**

Wilson was reassuring Cuddy that he had personally taken House to the airport when his cell phone beeped with an incoming text message. He flipped it open and chuckled at the message. "Report to Warden - destination Alcatraz. Say hi to the girls." Wilson blushed slightly at the last statement, trying not to let his eyes acknowledge the 'girls' House was referring to and wondered how the man knew Cuddy would be next to him.

"Well, he seems to be feeling better," Cuddy said as she grabbed a patient file and called out a name.

Wilson shared a smile with Nurse Brenda before heading off to make his own rounds, texting a short message back. "Girls are perky, photo to follow." He grinned, imagining House's expression, and prayed that House wouldn't use the photo as blackmail later. Cuddy would have them both castrated if she ever found out.

**+house md+house md+**

He could remember a time when he'd loved to fly. To feel the raw power beneath him, and dream that he soared above the clouds, imagining he was like an eagle, untouchable. Now though, thanks to the uncomfortable seating, the reverberations that seemed to be amplified through his leg, and no longer anticipating the destination, flying had become a source of torture.

He quickly popped a couple more pills and ignored the wide-eyed youngster, staring at him from across the aisle. If he was lucky, the lack of sleep and pills would combine to allow him a short nap and ease the suffering. And just to be on the safe side, he ordered a double scotch to chase the Vicodin, then leaned back and dialed in the blues station, closing his eyes and letting himself drift along with the music.

Still slightly groggy when he stepped off the plane, but refusing any assistance he made his way to the baggage claim then signaled the driver waiting to take him to the hotel. Cuddy hadn't left out a thing he mused, as the sharp-dressed limo driver scooped up his bags and deposited them neatly in the trunk, before holding the door open for him.

He was a little disappointed to find the liquor cabinet was not stocked, but his stomach growled in protest, reminding him he needed to eat shortly. Room service already sounded good, and since the Hospital was paying for it, he was determined to get his money's worth while attending the convention.

The Grand Manchester Hyatt was emblazoned in gold across the sliding doors, and entering the lobby he noted the large placards announcing the Symposium and welcoming all guests. A bellhop materialized at his side and he gratefully unburdened himself of his baggage, checked in at the front desk and followed the eager youngster to his room.

As the door to the king-sized room closed behind him, House wondered how anyone could live in these accommodations and shuddered to think of the sterile environment as less an escape, and more of a prison. It was too impersonal, even if it housed all the necessary needs of an adult. A bathroom, bed, cable TV, complete with pay-per-view, and a mini bar. On second thought, enough of the small bottles while watching the L-word could convince a guy he was doing all right.

House sighed, throwing his backpack on the floor next to the bed, and sprawled across the wide mattress, letting his leg stretch out as he pointed the remote at the television. If he was lucky, he'd only have to remain awake a few minutes to allow room service in, then he could crash until the first seminar at 9 am. He left a message with the front desk for an eight-thirty wake up call, then waited.

At this rate, he figured he was in for the longest three weeks of his life, still unsure of what to do after the Symposium ended. Cuddy had left an open ticket back to Princeton, letting him decide when he wanted to return.

His folks lived in California, but he had no inclination to visit their home, it hadn't ever been a home to him, and since he'd gained his independence, most of their family get-togethers had proven disastrous. Maybe he'd call his mom, but than _he_ might answer, so he scratched that idea.

There must be something to do in this state, that didn't include a beach. As his mind wandered, his eyes still watched the pictures flashing on the screen; suddenly he sat up, patting his pockets for a pen and paper.

"Hold on," he yelled at the announcer, rummaging through the nightstand next to the bed, picking up a Gideon Bible he scribbled down the number. Leaving the book open next to him, he laid back with a satisfied smirk. That just might prove interesting he thought, already picturing himself on a motorcycle for rent. After all, he had three weeks before he had to be back.


	5. Chapter 5

The shrill ring of the hotel desk phone alerted House to the time. His request for a wake-up call was muted by the half-closed bathroom door, and the steady pulse of warm water currently washing over his skull. After a few hours of tossing and turning, he had given up on the idea of lying in bed trying to sleep. Due to loud neighbors, returning after local bar closures, not being able to get comfortable in the hotel bed, and the fact that his internal clock was still three hours ahead of this part of the world, House was unable to sleep.

The phone went quiet after the fifth ring, and House wondered briefly if that was enough to wake most folks. Some marketing agency with a fancy name and lots of time on its hands, had probably studied various methods to inform their clients of the ample number of rings it would take to wake even the most unconscious guest from slumber. Too much information based on theories, committee studies and not enough solid evidence to warrant actual results. Not unlike the pharmaceutical reps he would soon be dealing with. Youngsters spouting facts and figures churned out by senseless computer polls and attired in their sharp business suits, all fake smiles and promises. One of the many reasons he found to avoid conventions.

Left hand braced against the smooth tiled wall, he wiped his hand over his face, feeling the wiry growth on his chin. He followed the trail of whiskers down to his neck, then the light smattering of chest hair, further downwards over his stomach, until his fingers brushed lightly over the patch of wet hair above his cock. He grasped his limp penis, feeling a small spark run through him. After a few rough strokes, he tried to imagine the brunette with grey eyes as her tongue flicked over him, the warmth and moisture of her mouth as she'd sucked him close to completion. He could feel his pulse increase as his body began to respond. Then he recalled her reaction to the scar on his thigh as he'd lifted his hips to allow her to pull his boxers down. He cursed himself silently for wanting, needing to watch, knowing he would have felt the same rejection and repulsion in her body language even with his eyes closed.

His groan echoed in the tiny enclosure, his motions now becoming an aggravation as he bent forward at the waist, his forehead thumping against the shower wall as his hand dropped to the scar on his right thigh.

The water turned tepid as it pelted the back of his neck and shoulders, and he winced. More from the harsh reminder rather than pain, as his fingertips felt the rough grooved skin that marred his leg, reminding him in part of what he'd lost. He twisted the knobs to their off position and watched as the last of the water slipped down the dark drain. He saw his own life headed the same way, spiraling out of control and beyond reach, and experienced jealousy at its ability to disappear so easily.

His thoughts moved to Stacy, and no matter how much turmoil she brought to his life, he knew he'd been right in pushing her away again. She deserved better. Her husband Mark would improve over time, as would their relationship, and House would continue to be crippled, bitter and always wonder 'what if', which would never have been fair to her. He grabbed a towel off the rack and began drying himself. Great way to start the day, he mused.

Rechecking his appearance in the bathroom mirror before leaving, he noticed more lines around the darkened circles under his eyes, and the hair showed greyer as he pushed his fingers through it quickly. His body had held up well over the years, allowing him to still wear the same clothes as he did in graduate school, which explained his varied collection of printed t-shirts.

Now though, the figure looking back at him is dressed in a suit and ironed dress shirt buttoned close to the top. He glances at the blue-striped tie lying on the bed and slowly picks it up, wrapping it under the collar and quickly tying it. At least Wilson can coordinate he thinks, studying the figure staring back at him and admits he still makes a striking figure, until he moves from the reflection and his constant companion is beside him again. His cane really isn't a babe magnet, no matter how many times he has reiterated it aloud.

House helped himself to the complimentary continental breakfast, grabbing a couple of Danish. Not many folks up this early and he wasn't scheduled to speak for another forty-five minutes, so he stayed near the refreshments, eating a couple more doughnuts. He recognized a couple of the more prominent faces, those whose careers he'd followed out of curiosity or watching for results he was interested in. Some resembled their photos printed in the journals, others he was convinced, were out dated yearbook photos.

Personally he never felt the need to have his picture published with any of his articles. His name was enough, and it allowed him a bit of freedom and anonymity. He nodded politely to a few individuals that acknowledged him, previous colleagues, a few former alumni and even fewer students he recalled from lectures he used to give.

Some of the faces appeared awfully young to hold practices, until he spotted a former roommate of Wilson's and realized the years are passing much more quickly than he'd had time to think about. Unable to shake the maudlin thoughts that insist on plaguing him, he grabbed a Starbucks from the lobby and retreated to the bar, which was broadcasting the latest sporting news. Maybe the Devils managed another win, and he was already thinking about the Michigan-Michigan State game later.

"Oh, my goodness, is that really you? After all these years, it is. It really is you."

House cringed. It never failed, there was always some over eager person from one's past, of the sappy reunion type, that wanted to make a large production of getting reacquainted. He shot a quick glance around, curious to know who would be thoroughly embarrassed and was caught in the unsuspecting embrace of a woman. Much to his chagrin and shock, he discovered too late, he was the unlucky recipient of the onslaught.

His leg buckled under him in protest and without any warning he found himself propelled backwards onto a hapless barstool, barely managing to keep himself from falling to the floor as he used the table as an anchor. His cup of coffee wasn't as fortunate, tumbling from his hand to the floor. A scream from the woman, now clinging desperately to his midsection as he struggled with their precarious balance, alerted the other patrons who eagerly stepped forward to assist the pair. His cane clattered to the ground as helping hands pulled them back to their feet. He shrugged off the offered support and snatched his cane back without a word of thanks, all the while managing to glower down at the woman.

The small crowd dispersed quickly, seeing their aid was no longer needed. She watched him warily from under perfect brows, cringing under his glare as she smoothed out her skirt. The woman was in her early forties, although without looking at her face one would probably have assumed early thirties. The pin-striped charcoal suit fit her well and House admired the shapely legs under the skirt.

"You owe me a cup of coffee," he blurted out, being the first to look away, his gaze taking in the white cup lying on its side in the midst of a brown pool of liquid at their feet.

"Haven't changed at all," she chuckled lightly, finally raising her eyes to meet his.

Caroline. The name came back in a rush, and he suddenly found himself reminiscing about the end of his college days. They had been seen at many functions together, her friends assuming they were a serious item, and House had enjoyed her company, not too mention he'd thought her one of the sexiest females on campus. But House had never been one to commit to anything other than himself, and he'd been too focused on graduating to do more than keep their relationship casual. Moving on to his internship he'd never looked back until rumors of a pregnancy had caught up with him.

He'd made the effort to contact her, feeling it was the right thing to do, but her family had chosen to be vague about her whereabouts, finally telling him she was soon to be married, hoping that would stop him from calling. It was the wedding invitation he'd received from her sister, complete with a scribbled note, do not rsvp, that convinced him finally to let it go.

"Mom, you okay?" came the baritone voice, and House glanced up to find himself looking at another pair of brown eyes as his thoughts crashed back to the immediate present. He blinked, noting a cleft chin and long thin nose, and couldn't seem to catch his breath as simple math seemed to freeze his brain. He couldn't stop staring, and felt his chest beginning to tighten. A knowing shake of the head and a glint of humor in Caroline's eyes permitted him a sigh of relief.

Caroline patted her son's arm as she turned her attention to him and gave him a small smile, watching him take in the scene quickly. "I was a bit clumsy in my excitement I'm afraid." She nodded towards House.

"More like she tried to tackle me," groused House, still upset over his spilled coffee.

"Brian, meet Greg House. We went to school together." She looked expectantly at House as her son dutifully held out his hand, a small impersonal smile on his face. Caroline grasped her son's hand in her own, when she realized House wasn't going to move, and pulled him towards the end of the line that had formed at the Starbucks kiosk. "C'mon, I owe him a coffee," she said reluctantly.

Brian looked at House who opted to follow the pair and House noted the once over he was given. "The Greg House?" he finally asked, sounding surprised.

"Unless there are two of me running around, which I'd find highly unlikely and annoying," quipped House after rattling off his coffee order and appraising the younger man.

Caroline's son shook his head as she paid for their order. "Wonders never cease." Before House could respond, Brian was handing him his new cup of steaming coffee and handed the other to his mom, continuing. "I'd pegged you a lot differently from Mom's description and your articles."

"You've read my articles?" House couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice, already chastising himself that his papers had a wide audience.

Caroline broke in, while directing them through the growing crowd towards the room House was to give his speech in. "Brian's the President of a very large investors group that's just recently gotten involved in hospital management," she stated proudly, as Brian looked slightly uncomfortable under her praise.

They stopped outside the conference room doors, taking opposite sides of the hallway to face each other. House leaned back against the wall, easing the weight off his leg as he tilted his cup towards Caroline. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Pediatrics," she laughed as House's face scrunched when he thought about dealing with children all day. "I've always loved kids—" He nodded, recalling a few discussions they'd both been adamant about involving that topic, and a few others they would never agree on.

Their discussion was cut short as the double doors opened to a small cluster of people exiting the room.

"That's my cue," House stated abruptly, pushing off the wall and entering the room, stopping when he felt a hand on his forearm. "Hey, watch the coffee?" he stated calmly, pulling away from her touch and regretting instantly the hurt that crossed her face. He breathed a heavy sigh looking down at his cane before meeting her that once familiar gaze. "You still look hot," he leaned towards her quickly and whispered. "You did good." He nodded towards her son and proceeded to move away. There was no use rehashing the past any longer.

"It was good seeing you too," she called after him.

He didn't turn around.


	6. Chapter 6

As much as he hated public speaking, House found that time passed quickly once he warmed to his topic and became engrossed in the subject material he presented while reminding his peers they were mostly idiots. He'd been slightly taken back by the number of folks that had turned out for his impromptu talk since he'd foregone any speaking engagements after the infarction, and really hadn't had been given the time to prepare a proper lecture.

The hotel staff had been forced to open the walled partition, doubling the room's capacity, in an attempt to accommodate the audience. There were still countless people lined against the wall, and more spilling into the hallway that had stood for the duration of his speech. Afterwards he'd found himself cornered, unable to leave and fielding questions for almost an hour before he finally ran out of patience and his leg began to bother him.

Trying to exit the conference room, House found he was still the center of attention and continued to be bombarded with questions that he ignored. A few individuals went so far as to try following him back to his hotel room. When he entered the elevator, he turned and raised his hand as if to address the last few queries, and instead swiftly closed the door on the last stragglers and ensured his escape. He immediately sought out his room, popped a couple of pills on the way, and swore he would somehow get even with Cuddy.

House managed to escape back to the privacy of his own room and flipped the television on, just as the second half of the Michigan – Michigan State football game got underway. The score displayed a tie game as the announcers predicted their outcomes for the remaining half. House dropped heavily onto the bed, tossing his cane beside him.

Hooking a finger over the knot of his tie, he pulled downwards until the confining piece of material hung loosely around his neck. Next he unbuttoned the stiff collar, rolled his neck a bit, feeling the muscles stretch. He sighed as he collapsed back against the headboard.

He closed his eyes momentarily as the morning's events and lack of sleep the night before caught up with him. Suddenly a loud cheer erupted from the television, startling him and his body jerked as his eyes flew open. He pulled himself upright, pushed another pillow behind his back and reached for the remote to turn the volume higher, in an attempt to stay focused on the game.

The University of Michigan Wolverines, House's old alma mater, had managed to recover a fumble and were celebrating as the football was placed on the thirty yard line. Easy field goal at least, he mused as the team broke from a huddle. He grinned in response as his team scored the go ahead touchdown with a quick reversal and finished with the extra point. That was the last play House remembered of the game as his eyelids grew heavier.

The dull ache that gripped his thigh, coupled with the stiffness in his neck, were the first things that nudged House out of his spontaneous nap. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for the pill bottle he knew would bring him some relief and quickly swallowed two of the white pills.

The television was now showing a repeat episode of Hell's Kitchen. He watched for a few minutes as Gordon Ramsey screamed obscenities at the incompetent contestant's and laughed aloud as he turned on customer that insisted on resting her ample bosom on the serving counter. His finger was pushing down on the off button when the same commercial that had caught his eye the night before came on. With his other hand he opened the bible that had been on the nightstand and searched for the page he'd already scribbled the number on.

He sat up in alarm, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and began thumbing through the book quickly before cursing the efficient cleaning staff for replacing the marked up book. Leaving the vandalized book open on the nightstand probably hadn't been the wisest of choices. He dropped the useless book onto the floor and repeated the number as a mantra while seeking a pen, pushing aside the local phone books and a few pamphlets. The small drawer slammed shut and he looked over his shoulder at the desk across the room from him and started to push off the bed. Instead he reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone, quickly typing in the number as he said it aloud.

Without another thought, he hit send and waited. After a few minutes he pulled the phone from his ear gave it a thoughtful look, and then punched in a few more keystrokes before closing it and tossing it to the side. Picking up the desk phone, he dialed 0 for room service and didn't notice the blue light that flashed on his cell indicating an incoming call.

While he waited for dinner to arrive, House deposited the contents of his suitcase and backpack onto the bed. He'd already changed to a pair of comfortable jeans and packed the suit back into the clothes bag, no longer having any use for it on this trip he decided. He was going to travel light, and ship the rest of his stuff home. He grinned in anticipation as he threw what he considered the bare essentials into the back pack, and then shoved the rest of his clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. With a loud zip, he sealed the bag and his decision for the remainder of his excursion.

Morning couldn't have come any sooner for House, who'd checked out of the hotel at six am and was currently nursing his second pot of coffee at a Denny's restaurant, sitting across from the motorcycle dealership and watching for any sign of life. He checked his watch again, noting it was nearly nine am and wondered what time the shop opened. Then he remembered it was a Sunday morning, and there was a very likely possibility they didn't conduct business today.

His patience was rewarded as a pickup pulled up to the front and pulled into the farthest spot in the lot. House stood from the table, dropped a twenty to cover breakfast and shouldered his backpack, anxious to be on his way.

The front door swung open with a jangle of bells that hung from the top of the frame as House entered and earned himself a dubious look from the salesman at the front counter, who was reaching for a ringing phone.

"Can I help you?" offered another voice at his side. House turned to see a spitting image of the front salesman looking at him. Identical twins he thought as he nodded, pulling out his wallet.

"I'm interested in a bike rental." House offered his license and proof of insurance before the man could ask for it.

The man nodded, introduced himself as Jesse and hooked a thumb towards the guy on the phone, explaining that he and his brother Jeff were co-owners of the business. Then he showed House to a private office, motioning for him to take a chair before moving to the other side of the desk and procuring a sizeable amount of paperwork. "Just a few introductory questions, a bit of legal paperwork and then we can determine what type of bike would fit your needs, Dr. House," he began politely.

House merely nodded, appearing outwardly calm as he began to answer the usual questions. The only sign that he was anxious to be gone, was the cane he continued twisting around between his legs as he rattled off his address, employment status and emergency references.

Jesse then informed him it would take a few minutes to input the given information into the computer, and establish a credit history and driving record. House cringed inwardly, thinking of the many parking tickets he'd accumulated and thought for sure he would be declined.

As they waited for confirmation, Jesse asked him why he'd decided to rent a bike?

"I've suddenly found myself with time on my hands while on the opposite side of the country, and thought I'd enjoy seeing the coastline." The time on his hands part was more than correct he thought, still bristling at Cuddy's enforced vacation.

"I see," said Jesse. "And how long were you interested in renting a touring bike?" House was about to correct him, as he enjoyed the feel of the faster machines, then understood with this as his only means of transportation for a few days, a touring bike would put less stress on his leg. He looked up at the knowing smile as the other waited for his answer.

"I'm considering a couple of weeks, possibly three?"

The man acknowledged his answer with a nod and continued typing, while giving his practiced speech about rates and policies, emergency measures, if there happened to be any mishaps, and the procedures for returning the bike. Hearing that the bike could be dropped at various locations throughout the continental states, House's outlook brightened even further as his options multiplied and he allowed himself a grin as Jesse slid the contract across the desk for him to sign.

An hour later House cinched the helmet snug, sliding the facemask down as he listened to the purr of the engine under him. He zipped up the leather jacket and pulled on the gloves, adjusting them slightly before grasping the handlebars. He had a genuine smile on his face as his hand released the brake, opened the throttle and listened to the engine rev as he pulled out of the lot. He could just imagine Cuddy's face when she heard about his disappearance, and for once in a very long time he felt relaxed and worry free.

He'd ridden up the coast at a leisurely pace, after all he was in no hurry to get anywhere fast, and was perfectly content in letting the road take him where it would. He'd made frequent stops, mostly to stretch his leg and check out the vantage points. The salty air and powerful roar of the ocean as he stood on one of the ledges overlooking the wide expanse of bluish grey made him feel almost insignificant.

He pulled off the freeway long after the sun had set and found a reasonably priced hotel room. He placed an order for take-out as soon as he entered the small, clean room and stepped in the shower to soak in the heat and loosen his stiffening muscles. House glanced at the cell phone vibrating on the nightstand, and continued eating his curry, lifting the phone after it signaled the missed a call.

The small screen notified him he'd missed four calls and he flipped the top and scrolled down, noting each call had been from Wilson. Two from his hospital number, one from his cell and the last from his home. House flipped the phone closed and placed it back on the nightstand, but not before shutting it off. If he was going to be on vacation, he didn't want any interruptions he decided, tucking back into his dinner.

**+housemd+housemd+**

Monday morning Wilson stood at the L-shaped counter, appearing to be reading a patient's chart. Nurse Brenda leaned forward so that only he could hear her. "I'll let you know when Doctor Cuddy comes in," she whispered. Wilson looked at her guiltily, his eyes once more shifting to the front door.

"That obvious?" he sighed. She nodded as Wilson gave her an apologetic smile and turned to survey the full waiting room behind him. They weren't going to get better on their own he thought as he called out a name and led a mother and her son into exam room three.

Twenty minutes later the woman left with her son in tow and a prescription for a decongestant. Wilson placed the finished chart in the empty basket and pulled another file, hearing the unmistakable click of the person he most wanted to see.

"Morning Wilson," Cuddy sounded rather cheerful as she accepted the clipboard from Nurse Brenda and smiled.

Wilson tried to sound nonchalant. "Heard from House?" Cuddy shook her head and glanced quickly at the Oncologist who stared at the yellow folder in his hand.

"I did receive a phone call from Doctor Alex Simmonds," she said, thanking Nurse Brenda as she finished signing the forms on the clipboard. Wilson was now staring at her, disbelief evident on his face.

"Doctor Simmonds?" he managed to stutter.

Cuddy eyed him coolly. "How did he phrase it?" She thought for a moment then picked up another folder. "The only seminar worth hearing at the symposium thus far and worth more than the week's admission, and it was given by a very unassuming man."

Wilson frowned, his eyebrows almost clashing together. "We are discussing House?"

"I couldn't quite believe it myself. I'm almost half tempted to fly out for his next speech; apparently this one made quite the impression and it's still a hot topic of discussion. Leave it to House to turn the medical community on its ear by expounding on the theoretical benefits of diagnosing and treating patients using an alternate reality environment. That man will never cease to amaze me." Cuddy shook her head in retrospect.

"Wait a minute." Wilson placed a hand on his hip, pushing his lab coat back, and focused on Cuddy. "Are we talking about The Alex Simmonds from London?" He waited for a denial, but instead he saw her begin to blush. "He called you?" Wilson prompted, interested now in how Cuddy knew such a prominent figure and he'd never heard about it until now.

Cuddy tried to look stern, but ended up averting her gaze. "We met a few years back at another convention." Wilson continued watching her and Cuddy could do nothing but finish the explanation. "House introduced us. The two of them got on very well at the time, although they spent more time on the golf course then they did attending the actual lectures."

Wilson nodded, knowing his friend way too well. "House never mentioned it."

Cuddy's eyes were focused across the room as if she were remembering, then suddenly shook her head and turned to Wilson. "I'm sure there are a lot of things House never mentioned. And I'm assuming he's not answering your phone calls?" Wilson looked at her quickly unsure how she was able to read him so well and dropped his gaze.

"He's still fuming at being sent to sit in the corner. Unfortunately you're the only one that will put up with it." She placed a hand on his forearm. "Give him time, Wilson."

Wilson nodded guiltily as he turned toward the row of chairs and called another patient, wondering why he let House get to him so easily.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Two days later House was sitting hunched at the bar of a local truck stop on the outskirts of Portland, nursing a hot cup of coffee. His nose was mere inches from the scorching liquid as if he could warm his body by breathing in the heat. An occasional shiver racked his body and his leg continued to ache, even after three Vicodin.

In just a few short hours the weather had turned from mild warm temperatures to a thoroughly damp and chilling cold that pierced savagely through his clothing the further north he traveled. He was forced to pull off the freeway when the darkness engulfed him and he'd managed to lose feeling in his fingers and toes.

He'd parked his bike in the handicapped stall next to the buildings entrance and slowly hobbled inside, his right leg screaming as each step sent a fresh bolt of pain through his frozen body. The waitress, whose nametag read Shirley, led him towards the bar and quickly supplied him with a cup of specialty house brew and a carafe to get him started. Soon as he'd draped his jacket over the chair next to him and deposited his helmet, he slid heavily onto the stool. She promised to return in a tic to take his order.

"Hey, Mister." A kid's voice startled him and he turned his head to find a sandy-blond youngster, no more than about twelve, setting his duffle bag onto the chair. "Shirley says to show you the showers," he said, moving back a step as House raised an eyebrow at the bag beside him, then glanced back up to the kid. House wasn't given the chance to respond as to why the hell his bag had ended up in the kid's possession as Shirley's voice interrupted.

"That's a good boy, Jeffrey. Now fetch one of the keys and show the gentleman the way. No use sittin' around in them wet things. You'll feel a lot better after a hot shower and some dry clothes." She shooed them both away with a flick of a flour towel and was already hustling off towards another group of people.

Jeffrey just shrugged with an easy grin at House's lift of his eyebrow and nodded towards the back of the diner. "C'mon, the showers are back here. You can leave your stuff," he hastily added as House had begun to gather his jacket. "No one'll touch it, seeing how Shirley's got an eye on it." As if in response, Shirley caught House's eye and gave him a quick wink.

House slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbed his cane and slowly followed Jeffrey through the short maze of tables. It was easier just to accept Shirley's suggestion of a shower rather than to argue, and besides the thought of a hot shower sounded appealing.

"You don't talk much, Mister." Jeffrey watched curiously as House accepted the key and disappeared into the small cubicle.

"Scram." Was the only reply he could muster, and heard soft laughter receding as he closed the door.

House sat a lot more comfortably at the bar, his wet clothes tucked inside his duffel and he'd eliminated the chill from his body. A little in part thanks to the whiskey he'd downed before his dinner arrived.

He finally took in his surroundings as he began to eat. There wasn't anything outstanding about this diner; he'd visited his fair share of local grease joints as they'd affectionately come to be called by the long haul drivers. Still the option of a warm meal and laid back atmosphere drew even the locals like magnets to the businesses, where folks knew they would be served a meal, almost as good as home cooked.

The small television tucked into the corner showed the weather map and conditions forecasted for the next few days. House inwardly groaned at the news he'd be facing even colder weather if he continued north. The front he'd been caught in was currently heading south, so no matter which direction he chose to go, he was looking at more misery.

A snippet of conversation reached his ears as he shoved another bite of mashed potato in his mouth. "Can't imagine the idiot that thinks he can ride a bike in this weather. That guy has to have some balls…" He was unable to hide a grin even with his back to the people talking and continued to watch the television.

"Well, as long as he stays out of my lane, I'll be happy."

"Aw come on, Hank, you'd only feel a small bump in that suspension of yours." Coarse laughter followed and he quit listening as the barstool on his left was pulled out.

"This taken?" House shook his head and ignored the man that took a seat next to him. Shirley bustled over, refilled the carafe, set it between the two before hurrying off again. "Name's John," said the stranger and held out a hand that House promptly ignored. John pulled his hand slowly away and picked up the coffee cup, his eyes straying to the television.

"Where you headed?" House gave a little shrug, hoping the other would get the clear message he'd sent and continued sipping his coffee. "I've got a load to drop in Tacoma, and then I'm heading home." House decided he obviously didn't get the subtle message and looked for Shirley hoping to pay his bill and leave.

John continued, either unaware that House didn't care or he didn't mind talking to himself. "Last haul for a month. I've been running extra routes and saving all of my vacation so that I can be home when my wife has the baby. It's our first— gotta tell you, it gets a bit old hearing one's own voice after a bit."

There was a pause, in which House continued to ignore him and Shirley set a large breakfast platter in front of John, who began eating in earnest while continuing his monologue.

"This is our third try; the other two didn't make it passed the second trimester. God, I so hope the boy is healthy." The man paused to swallow a forkful of eggs. "You got kids?" House just shook his head, his neighbor oblivious to his uncaring attitude.

"James Gregory Wilson."

House's head spun towards John as his brain cleared the fog. John swallowed hard under the sudden scrutiny of a shocked House and he stuttered a bit. "Tha-that's what we're naming him," he finished quietly.

Aware that the other man had stopped eating, his fork held in mid-air expectedly, House's expression turned to a smirk.

"I can think of a few names worse than Jimmy to have to live with," he finally confessed, breaking the tension. John laughed, resuming his meal and half-eyeing the television weatherman.

"Nasty storm brewing. Hope I can stay ahead of it."

House got a thoughtful look on his face. "Where's home?" he asked casually.

"Minneapolis, you didn't seem interested five minutes ago." John pushed the remainder of his meal absently around the plate.

"You weren't interesting five minutes ago," House shot back and John laughed pushing back from the bar.

"I've got a bike parked outside," House began, forming an idea.

John took a look over his shoulder, seeming to notice the motorcycle parked by the front door for the first time and looked back at House with an expression of doubt and something akin to admiration. "You're either part daredevil or insane, and by the looks of you, I'd seriously consider the latter option."

"A bit of both, and I'm firing my travel agent when I get back."

John chuckled, taking a long look at House, sensing there was something on his mind, and curiosity getting the better of him, he came to a quick decision. "Okay, I'm listening."

House explained his thoughts of transporting him and the bike to Seattle, the closest location he would be able to drop off the motorcycle, and still be able to catch a flight back to Princeton. At first John seemed reluctant to take on a passenger and weighed the risks of using the company truck to haul the pair, until House pointed out that the extra cash he'd make would help supplement the new kid.

The pair were headed north shortly thereafter, and House decided the warm interior of the cab was more preferable to riding a bike in the inclement weather, as he watched the rain turn to sleet through the windshield.

Two and a half hours later, House was sitting inside another diner, while he waited for John to deliver his load. This time he sat at the booth next to the front windows watching snow fall under the dome lights and turn into slush as rigs moved back and forth jockeying for position at the pumps.

He shivered each time the doors opened, letting in a new customer and a gust of chilly air. Another hour passed before House tired of waiting, pulled out his cell phone and turned it on. This time there were not only messages from Wilson, but one from Cuddy as well, and several missed calls from the ducklings.

Listening to the last of the phone messages, House rolled his eyes. Not only had they had a case but Foreman and Chase, after leaving numerous messages, had finally figured it out without his help, and it seemed everything was back to normal. Cuddy's was the last call.

"House, I hope you're enjoying your vacation." There was a sigh. "I thought I should let you know, the hospital board decided to bring Stacy in to assist with the defense of your case. Partly due to the fact that she's not only familiar with you, but is probably one of the few that doesn't believe you're a complete ass." There was another pause, and House had to loosen his grip on the phone. "I'm hoping we'll have this whole mess straightened out shortly. I'll be in touch. Take care of yourself." The last line was barely heard as House snapped his phone closed.

Damn Stacy for getting involved and Cuddy for allowing it. Even if Cuddy was right, and Stacy cleared him, it meant he'd still have to face her and talk to her again. He wondered idly if she'd confided in Cuddy since she'd gone back home to Mark. Suddenly getting back to Princeton didn't seem quite so important now, and left him feeling even colder. He opened his phone again and pushed a button, knowing Wilson would have already left his office.

"Wilson, I'm fine so quit your worrying. I'm thinking sand and surf after hell week is over, and lots of booze. I expect a welcome back party, complete with porn and pizza if not, two hookers in my bed. Give the twins my best and ignore the witch." He flipped the phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket, trading it for the amber pill bottle. He slumped further into the booth and waited for John to return.

John had to wake House up when he arrived. House squinted at his watch; it read two-forty five. John shrugged and explained they'd lost a driver and he'd been forced to pick up another load. He'd be driving the northern most routes to deliver the merchandise, but at least it was on the way home. He was anxious to get started as it would slow his return trip down considerably.

House wasn't as eager to comply, as it meant he'd be home a lot sooner also. The drop off location House had been provided with offered twenty four hour service, and he was able to complete the paperwork, leaving him free of any responsibilities. Making their way back to the truck, John lamented he'd be sorry to see House go as company would help to keep him awake. That was all the invitation House needed. He could catch a flight in Minneapolis just as easily, and since he wasn't expected to be anyplace for another couple of weeks, why the hell not travel the Midwest? It would definitely postpone any unwanted reunions.

They made it to Idaho before John admitted he needed to pull over for a few hours. He'd been fighting the rig in the gusting winds and falling snow for the past couple of hundred miles. House had managed to doze very lightly, occasionally peering through half-lidded eyes to make sure they were still on the road after a few particularly nasty jerks. John pulled the rig into a rest area, the overhead lights turning the grey parking lot into a checkerboard.

"I'm going to stretch for a bit, recheck the chains and then grab a few hours of shut-eye," John announced. House nodded looking at the world slowly turning white around them. "I'll pull down the bunk, if you want you can use the bottom," he finished, climbing out of the cab. He'd had his right leg propped up on the dash, and the thought of stretching it out even further came as a welcome idea, even with the extra Vicodin he'd taken.

House soon followed, shrugging quickly into his coat and turning to make his way to the restrooms. That building sat less than a block away, yet it seemed like an indeterminable distance as he bent his head into the wind and wet snow and carefully stepped forward.

Any misstep in these conditions with his leg and cane, and he was only too familiar with the consequences. He'd made it about half way before his teeth started chattering and he felt an arm slip around his waist. House fought back the urge to push John away, realizing he'd probably freeze out here on his own and reluctantly accepted the offer.

It still took them a little over fifteen minutes before they were back in the warmth of the cab, and shortly after John was snoring on the top bunk. House perused John's DVD collection shelved in the corner with a small television, and decided to watch Million Dollar Baby. He thought the story a bit on the sappy side, but enjoyed Clint Eastwood and figured it would help put him to sleep.

House awoke in near darkness, hearing voices. He groaned and popped two Vicodin before rolling towards the front of the cab. A slit of dim light between the drawn curtains told him it was still dark out, and he threw one side of the curtain open, not surprised to find another occupant in the passenger seat. He rubbed a hand over his shaggy face and eyed the newcomer critically.

John hooked a thumb towards the pimple faced teenager, dressed as a thick blue ski jacket and a striped knitted cap. "Picked Mark up thirty miles back. His car broke down," he offered in explanation as the kid stared back at House wide-eyed, before quickly looking forward again. House pulled himself upwards, clutching the backs of the seats and wished he'd remained asleep.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen so much snow. The world was practically obliterated and reminded him of his whiteboard. He glanced at the speedometer, they were only moving at twenty miles an hour, and John's fists clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. House had to squint at the wall of tiny white needles that assaulted the windshield and was unable to make out any type of landmark or indication they were still on a road.

"Where are we?" he asked not bothering to hide the yawn, hoping it would hide his nervousness.

Downshifting and leaning forward John answered, still not bothering to look anywhere but straight ahead, which bothered House more than he thought it should. "Crossed the Montana line about two hours back. They closed the highway, figured I'd take the round-a-bout way and come out a little further up." He downshifted once more, the truck lurched and John fought the steering wheel for a bit before he let out a heavy sigh.

House was able to finally make out the barest of landscape outlines as his eyes adjusted to the visibility. They rode in silence for twenty minutes before the bare landscape began to form into a tunnel of trees, and the change in scenery allowed a better view of the road. They were also climbing as House listened to the increased pitch of the engine.

"Think I'll go lie down and pretend this is all just a nightmare," House stated, and was only too willing to release his own tight grip on the cushions and settle back onto the lower bunk. He heard John chuckle, "Nothing's stopping me from getting home for my kid. Wife says she's starting to feel contractions."

House pulled the curtain closed between them and put in another movie in. He turned the sound on the television up in an attempt to drown out the noisy whine from the truck's engine. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could imagine he was lying on his sofa at home, and not riding with Stephen King's antagonist from the Duel. He thought about inquiring whether John had any kind of stash hidden away, the guy seemed too awake and eager, and then decided with the youngster traveling with them he'd save that question for later. There were still two more states they'd have to cross to reach their destination.


	8. Chapter 8

House couldn't begin to understand how he'd let Wilson talk him into a carnival of all things. Wilson knew House despised not only the jostling crowds, but also the chaotic noise and the non-stop heckling that seemed to follow you everywhere. And yet here he stood with Wilson at one of the cheaply constructed game booths as Wilson tested his luck.

He swore he was going to make Wilson pay. First he'd coerce him into buying one of every type of junk food imaginable: from the deep-fried Twinkies to cotton candy, a pulled barbeque pork sandwich, elephant ears, jam covered scones, chili dogs, garlic fries and a couple of beers to round things out. Then, because friends always looked out for each other, he'd insist on purchasing tickets to the lose-the-contents-of-your-stomach-while-your-head-spins-backwards rides.

The pleasure would come from watching Wilson squirm and sweat as he hurriedly concocted numerous reasons why he shouldn't be allowed on the man-made death traps. All the while the line in front of them would slowly dwindle as House reminisced out loud about the various disasters associated with the metal confines. Usually by the time they reached the front of the line, the ticket taker would motion for security to remove the duo, as they tended to create a minor panic amongst the other guests with House's descriptive narrations.

Wilson still hadn't discovered this was House's way of avoiding having to get on the rides himself. Naturally House could have played the cripple card and easily avoided the rides, but Wilson made such an easy gullible target. Besides, there had to be some type of payback for dragging House out of his comfortable apartment and making him accompany him on one of Wilson's attempts to relive his childhood.

Unfortunately, Wilson wasn't listening to House. House had turned to the younger man after hearing a series of popping sounds and announced he was ready to leave. But Wilson seemed intent on senselessly chit chatting to a toothless Carney that stood in front of them and kept pointing to a wall of multi-colored balloons over his shoulder, motioning for Wilson to throw one more dart. Another series of sharp pops, and House couldn't explain why he was suddenly jumpy, irritable and ready to leave.

He lurched forward in an attempt to intercept Wilson's arm in his final throw, too late. He watched as Wilson's hand opened releasing the dart, and then could only watch in fascination as the dart sailed towards the wall. The balloon disintegrated before him, the dart stuck solidly into the wood and the world sped up once more. It was then he heard the screams of metal strained beyond its pivot points and the loud yells of fright from fairgoers on the rides. The toothless attendant's face disappeared as he thrust the world's largest and ugliest stuffed dog into House's chest, causing him to take a step back. His leg buckled under the unexpected motion.

House screamed as a wave of pain washed through his body, and he tried in vain to shove away the unwanted prize pushing heavily against his chest. Damn Wilson, and when the hell did it get so dark? A loud raspy noise, like a leaking bellows surrounded him, leveling off when he tried to discern its direction. He held his breath for a moment and the noise stopped, replaced by a repetitive drumming in his ears. He grimaced at the sudden knowledge and told himself not to panic.

House's brain tried to process the sensory overload as he blinked against the darkness, his right leg caught in a vice grip of cramps and he was unable to reach it due to the suffocating pressure crushing his chest and left arm. His right arm flailed outward, the back of his hand connecting with something solid, before House remembered he'd been lying in the sleeping bunk of a truck. He frowned when he recognized he was now in an upright position and turned his head towards his right hand as it grasped some type of cloth. He pulled the blanket off his head, and gratefully gasped in a lungful of air, heavily tinged with diesel fumes. He could now see a thin shaft of grey light that angled towards his leg, allowing him to make out dark shapes.

"Hey," he tried to yell and found his voice came out as a hoarse call, still loud enough to be heard because the truck was silent. He managed after a few tries, to pull downward on the twisted curtain that separated the two compartments, only to discover he was suddenly in a bigger mess than any he'd dreamed of.

"Oh shit."

+house md+house md+

The four-wheel jeep purred quietly as Jamie sat in the driver's seat and watched the snow fall onto the hood of the vehicle. The temperature was beginning to drop again and the snow was no longer turning to water and running off the hood, instead it was beginning to resemble cake flour sprinkled generously over a countertop and slowly piling up.

She peered intently through the streaked windshield as the wipers continued to remove the snowflakes in an arcing pattern, a continual onslaught of moisture, which only seemed to get pushed from one side to the other. Her fingers idly turned a dial on the radio receiver, the green digital numbers flashing, while a voice on the other end faded in and out between static. She slapped the top of the grey box with an open palm, causing her passenger to flinch before quickly pointing his large ears forward and attempting to swipe at her hand with his tongue.

She reached over to scratch the top of the German Shepherd's head apologetically and then resumed her efforts to tune the radio, finally pulling the microphone up to speak.

"Base, this is Ranger three seven, over." The radio squelched as she released the mic and waited. She called again, adjusted the tuner once more and was rewarded with a man's voice that sounded distant and broken with static bursts.

"Blue blazer see- -ving highway, hea- on –i- ro- ee –ver." She slapped the receiver again, letting her eyes scan the landscape around her as she responded.

"You're breaking up, Mike. I'll check out fire road three, make sure the barriers are still in place. Over." She sighed, listening to more static, half expecting to hear a response before she replaced the microphone. She patted the dog's head once more, released the emergency brake and stepped on the clutch.

"Good thing we know where we're going. Anyone caught in this is going to be in bad shape," she said thoughtfully, glancing worriedly at the deepening grey skies and pushed the gear stick forward. The low rumble from the transmission as the jeep's gears engaged seemed somehow comforting, and the vehicle began to roll forward packing the snow under the tires with a crunching noise.

"We'll check the gates and then head back. Shouldn't take us very long as I'd rather not get caught in the middle of a blizzard." She looked over at the dog who was calmly watching her, his head tilted to the side as if trying to decide how to answer. "And if you could talk," she mused, and then focused on trying to recall the layout of the roads she needed to navigate.

+house md+house md+

Two concerned faces peered back in the reflection of the radar screen that depicted the incoming storm.

"She's a beaut," the taller man said, as he watched the telltale signs of trouble turned into digitized pixels on the computer screen.

"It's moving in pretty quick, Mike," stated the younger man as his finger traced the yellow jagged line that was slowly turning to orange across the monitor. "The National Weather Service is issuing alerts."

"I haven't seen anything like this."

"In the last twenty five years?" the younger man chuckled. Mike slowly stood back, shaking his head. The storm that was headed their way left no doubt in his mind as to its destructive nature and the problems they would soon be facing.

"Yeah, I'll admit to a quarter of a century serving as a Park Ranger. But no, nothing like this in my 42 years or any stories from the old timer's that I can recall." he replied. His serious tone had the other man swallowing hard, and Mike placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Get the shortwave set up and start broadcasting the emergency channels, we're implementing Whiteout. I want everyone accounted for and check in schedules arranged, make sure they understand this is not a drill." The other man had already pulled the cover off of an elaborate ham radio outfit on another table across the room, and concentrated on flipping switches, listening to the comforting hum as he turned dials. "And Kieran?"

"Yeah, boss?" Kieran stopped and faced Mike, waiting for him to finish as Mike leaned closer to the computer screen.

"I hope you remembered to stock the pantry." Kieran gave a half-hearted grin as he thought about the number of weeks they could live off the emergency supplies currently housed in the storeroom. They could probably feed a dozen families or so for a couple of weeks, and then he paused as the seriousness of the situation began to hit home.

"Guess we won't be ordering take-out for a while," he joked, in an attempt to keep the atmosphere light hearted and turned back to the transmitter. He didn't hear Mike's response as the machinery came alive under his fingers and the radio squealed into life.

"Not for at least a week or so—"


	9. Chapter 9

House let his right arm fall limply against his body as the curtain dropped away. Swallowing quickly he averted his eyes, fighting back the bile that had risen in his throat. It wouldn't do to vomit on himself now, and he forced himself to concentrate on his predicament.

His own body was sandwiched between the upper and lower bunks uncomfortably tight, and he felt a short-lived satisfaction when he was able to wiggle his left fingers. He would have worried more about his legs but for the cramps in his right thigh that assured him he was still in one piece, although unable to determine exactly what if any damage had been inflicted.

He took as deep a breath as he could, wincing at the sharp pang of pain it brought him. _Bruised ribs more than likely_, not a sharp enough pain to indicate they were broken, but then again, the two bunks could be acting as a very effective tourniquet, he reminded himself.

A groan escaped with the exhaled air and he blinked in the dim light until his eyes fully adjusted to the dark interior. The roof was much closer than he remembered and he surmised it had collapsed against an unknown outside force when the truck had turned on its side; which explained his upright position.

While he ran through a quick self-diagnostic in his head, he moved his hand over the edges of the bed frames in search of any type of a release or leverage point. His hand met something tacky on the metal in line with his forehead and he jerked his head back involuntarily. Tenderly he probed his forehead and found a gash above his right temple, his fingertips came away sticky. He checked the rest of his exposed head and determined there was a rather large and painful to the touch bump behind his ear. A headache was the least of his worries.

The first rush of adrenalin had left him and the cold began to seep into his thoughts and exposed body. He tried to reach the blanket he'd thrown off earlier but could only brush the material with his fingers. He forced himself to relax and attempted to move his upper body with no luck, he was wedged too tightly.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly and steeled himself to look for another means to escape this predicament.

_Come on House, get a grip. You've seen more than your share of dead bodies, why should this be any different?_

Because, it could easily have been him sitting in that passenger seat and not some stranger whose name he couldn't remember. _Mike, Mack, Mark,_ that one had a familiar ring to it, not that he cared, or so he'd claim.

He turned his head; jaw clenched tightly and tried to remain clinical. The decapitated body hung at an awkward angle, still caught in the safety harness. He couldn't stop the shudder that ran through him as he looked past the figure towards the spider webbed remains of the windshield.

A solid wall of white kept it intact, and he followed gravity downward with his eyes. Jutting up past the driver's seat were jagged tree limbs as thick as his arm, snapped in two and resembling crude pike ends. He still hadn't located the other person, the one that had been driving.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice sounding loud in his own ears. _Had what's-his-name been thrown clear or had he jumped out when he started to lose control? If he was out there, wouldn't he come looking for survivors?_ House yelled louder and listened, hearing nothing but silence in return.

He lifted his arm toward the passenger seat stretching as far as he could, and strained to reach the hasp of the seat belt. It was only a matter of centimeters and if he could only—just about—the plastic taunted him as he wiggled his fingers in desperation, unable to close the distance. Too far away, he slumped in defeat, drained and panting with the exertion.

The pressure inside his head had increased with the effort and he felt a trickle of something roll down the side of his face. It's only sweat, he told himself, catching his breath and trying to slow the pounding of his heart, which only seemed to echo loudly in his head.

"Are you just going to give up? What kind of a man are you? I'll tell you what kind. A quitter and you know why that is? Because you're afraid, afraid to stand up and face the consequences. Accept responsibility, something you don't know how to do, and don't think your Mother is going to save you this time."

House whimpered, turning his head into the unyielding prison he'd found himself stuck in. Even with his free hand pressed to his ear he was unable to block out the yelling, and he flinched in anticipation of a blow that never came.

No one was coming to save him.

No one even knew he was here, not that there was anyone that cared.

"I tried to call, but you ignored me, which didn't really surprise me. Guess you're going to get your wish after all."

_"My wish, what wish?"_

"You're always telling me how you want to be left alone, well, here's your wish come true."

"Don't leave," he mumbled, as darkness overtook him.


	10. Chapter 10

Jamie uncurled her hand from around the steering wheel and flexed her fingers a few times to ease the tightness before switching hands. She continued to focus on the disappearing road ahead, confident in her driving abilities but all too aware that the moment she let her concentration lapse, anything could go wrong.

She started when the radio squawked loudly and let out a short laugh to hide her embarrassment as Mike's voice greeted her.

"Base to Ranger three seven, come in, over?"

Jamie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took a deep breath before picking up the microphone. The jeep slowed as she divided her concentration.

"Mike, good to hear your voice, over." She hadn't spoken to her supervisor, and best friend, in the last few days, as he'd been playing host to a snow expedition.

"We have reports of a major front incoming from Canada, Jake. Recommend you get home and stay there. We're figuring about a week without outside contact, over."

Mike only used her nickname publicly, when trouble was brewing or he was drunk, both rare occasions. He began to speak slower while he detailed facts and figures; a sure sign this storm had him concerned and that meant the valley would probably be snowbound for a few days.

She shrugged, figuring a mini vacation was a better prospect than being stuck at the lodge comforting stranded tourists.

"So what's the bad news?"

There was a pause and a couple of static clicks before his weary voice came back. "Tell me you're wrapped up under a comforter in front of your fireplace with a mug of cocoa."

She scrunched her face into a grimace and imagined him running a hand over his own face as he waited for an answer. The wipers swished back and forth on the windshield, their steady rhythm counting off the seconds. She flipped on the headlights as the wipers arced across the glass, slid the heater control another notch to the right and braced herself before answering.

"Not exactly, Mike."

"Where you at girl?" His tone had gone from friendly to boss in that last question.

Jamie looked around at the quickly deteriorating landscape. She was still able to make out a few familiar landmarks, but even those were becoming fewer.

"I checked fire road three's gate. Someone busted through."

"Close the gate and go home." It wasn't a request.

"I'd like to." She let the thought trail off and Mike's voice came back quickly.

"But?" The single word demanded further explanation and left no room for argument.

She shook off the sense of impending doom; she'd seen plenty of snowstorms and the few whiteouts they'd experienced lasted only a day or two.

"I'll head back shortly," she assured him.

"Jake." This time she cringed at the use of her nickname. "Turn your ass around and get yourself inside. That's an order!"

Jamie bit back her first response and instead clenched her jaw and blew out a long breath. Diplomacy was a better tact. "Yeah, I'm turning around now."

"Good. If we lose contact, fire up the portable at the usual time."

Even though Mike couldn't see her, she nodded in response. "Will do—oh shit!"

The dark mass appeared suddenly in her path, partially buried under a blanket of snow, but there was enough of an outline for her to distinguish it was a large vehicle.

Jamie's foot came down hard on the brake pedal as she dropped the mic, twisted the steering wheel hard and thrust out her right arm to brace the dog.

The jeep slid sideways, and for a heart-stopping moment she felt the impact of metal hitting metal. Her body slammed into the door as her grip was wrenched from the steering wheel. Air bags deployed in a dense cloud of chemicals and a deafening retort left her ears ringing.

Jamie slowly let go of the wheel, her hands shook as she turned them over and buried her face in the dog's fur. Her heart hammered against her breast bone as she gasped for air and slumped back in the seat, arms dropping into her lap. She let out a choked cry and leaned over to embrace her shaking passenger, burying her head in his neck, all the while mentally scolding herself for panicking. As her racing heart slowed to normal she pushed herself back into the driver's seat, still shaky from the close call.

Mike's shouting finally roused her and she retrieved the black cord, pulling the mic out from under the seat, but not before noting they'd stopped mere inches from the buried vehicle.

"Jake—what is it?"

She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice, and cleared her throat a few times; no need to worry him. "Got a vehicle on the side of the road. Blazer by the looks of it."

"Can you see anyone?"

Jamie had already opened the glove box and grabbed a pair of gloves and a ski mask. "I'm going to go check, turning on the handheld." She replaced the microphone on the v-shaped hook and turned on the portable field radio. Mike was already calling, his voice began to fade.

"Status?" Mike demanded.

Jamie opened the door and practically slid out of the jeep, her boots sinking into the powder. She hunched her shoulders against the instant change in temperature, pulled out the thin silver antennae on the rectangular box and adjusted the frequency. The dog jumped out beside her and began sniffing around the jeep, his muzzle showed off a clump of white as he regarded her with soft brown eyes.

"There's already a half foot of snow," she reported to Mike as she made her way towards the stranded car, her legs plowing a trail to the vehicle.

The blue and white blazer appeared to have swerved off the road and wedged itself into a small copse of young trees, the front end nosed forward into the road's shoulder, leaving the back tire hanging above the road.

The driver's door was pinned tightly against a tree trunk, the metal molded neatly around it and Jamie brushed the snow off the windows trying to peer inside, but the tinting was too dark. She slapped her hands hard on the cold metal and yelled in the hopes of alerting any survivors, but was not surprised when there was no response. She made her way back to the jeep and reported her findings.

"Mike, I'm going to get the shovel and try to dig to the passenger door. Driver's side is blocked by trees."

"Keep me posted, no more than 15 minute intervals."

She set the handheld on the seat and rummaged in the back for the small fold out shovel. Twenty minutes later she was able to tug on the passenger door, but it stubbornly held fast against her attempts to open it. In frustration she banged the shovel against the metal and then put her ear to the window.

Still nothing.

The flashlight wouldn't penetrate beyond the dark covering on the windows, so she opted to put a couple more hefty dents into the Blazer, sure that if there had been anyone inside, she would have received a response by now.

She climbed swiftly back into the jeep and shut the door to keep the heat from escaping and pulled off her gloves, placing stiff fingers in front of the heater vents, and sighed at the issuing warmth they offered. There was nothing but static from the radio, and after a few tries she gave it up, and decided it was time to head home.

Jamie opened the driver's door, the window refusing to open and let out a sharp whistle. The sound of the jeep's engine couldn't completely mask the quiet of the falling snow. It appeared harmless and peaceful and reminded her of a Norman Rockwell painting. A moment later, Jamie was once more standing outside and whistling.

"Indy!" She let out another series of sharp whistles, called, and clapped her hands together, finally following the beam of headlights on the road to see Indy pacing back and forth. Exasperated, she placed her hands on her hips, adopted a western gunfighter's stance and glared at the dog.

"If you've got a squirrel treed, you will be sleeping outside for the next week, Mister." The threat didn't seem to faze Indy as he continued to pace back and forth, his attention turned away from her. Curiosity got the better of her, and she went to investigate.

Indy stopped pacing as she neared, and he gave a low warning growl as she stepped up beside the dog, only to find herself peering down into a steep ravine. Another few steps and she would have found herself in a perilous predicament.

"Okay, boy." She squatted beside him and patted his head, unsure of what had attracted his attention. "Time to head for home."

Jamie turned to walk back to the jeep and Indy began to bark. She rolled her eyes and pivoted back. "What is your problem? It's going to be dark soon and I plan on being home before then. So forget about playtime, let's go." The dog refused to budge and backed up a small step before he resumed barking. She frowned unsure of how to explain his behavior.

Normally Indy wouldn't put up a fuss. It was obvious something had caught the dog's attention. Jamie decided it was worth taking a closer look. She let her gaze wander slowly over the ravine this time, and was about to give up until she saw a few downed trees and became aware that it wasn't boulders snaking down the hill, but a trail of truck parts.

"Oh my god!" she shouted, already running back to the jeep while the dog barked behind her as if in encouragement. He'd earned his own steak dinner tonight.

+house md+house md+

The pounding headache wouldn't stop, and it kept an out of synch rhythm with the vice-grip spasms that shot through his thigh, and snaked upwards through his groin. He clenched his teeth as another groan escaped, and the heel of his palm pressed hard against his temple did little to ease the pain. He couldn't remember experiencing this kind of pain since the infarction and there was no one around to administer a morphine drip.

There was no one around period. If he'd been thinking clearly he would have admitted that not including anyone in his plans was childish and irresponsible. And now, due to his warped sense of needing to preserve his privacy, he'd really screwed things up. It wasn't the first time, and could possibly prove to be his last. But then House wasn't thinking clearly.

He was unaware of how long he'd been trapped here, his watch still ticking away the seconds and minutes, hidden and strapped to his confined arm. Darkness had settled inside the cab and the smell of urine and bodily waste only heightened his discomfort and he fought back another wave of nauseous.

He licked his chapped lips, aware of the bead of sweat on his upper lip and wondered if hypothermia would set in before he died of starvation. He closed his eyes as the pain engulfed him once more, and left him panting and physically drained.


	11. Chapter 11

Jamie hurried back to the jeep, her boots packing new snow into the footprints she'd left only a few moments earlier. She was unsettled to discover the vehicle already powdered with a layer of white and it brought back Mike's ominous warning about the incoming storm.

A whiteout was the last thing she wanted to get caught in, but as long as there was even a remote possibility there may be a survivor at the bottom of the hill she wasn't about to give up and leave.

She keyed the handheld and spoke rapidly, her brow furrowing as she listened to the hiss of static in response. She tossed the radio onto the dash, picked up the receiver's microphone and slid into the driver's seat. Two more attempts, a couple of solid thumps with her hand on the top of the metal box, and still nothing but the noise of someone crinkling wax paper came through the speakers. She was on her own.

The jeep lurched forward, the front tires spinning freely before gaining traction in the loose snow. She stopped the vehicle several feet behind Indy, set the emergency brake and switched on the overhead spotlights. The narrow beams offered her some small assurance before they were swallowed in the deepening shadows.

A thin steel cable stretched away from the jeep's front winch, disappearing over the edge, and Jamie hooked her karabiner onto the length of rope that paralleled it. She shifted the harness around her waist, testing the snug fit, and pulled sharply on the rope, satisfied with her preparations. Readjusting the emergency backpack, she gave Indy a thumbs up gesture, more for her own encouragement, and then began her backwards descent into the valley.

Rappelling had been her one bane in the courses she'd taken to become a ranger, as she had never been keen on the idea of stepping off a solid surface and dropping into the unknown. She forced herself to breathe deeply and tried to keep her muscles relaxed as she lowered herself over the side. Several times her feet slid out from under her and she was thrown onto her elbows and stomach, the rope slipping through the thick gloves as she scrambled for a foot hold.

By the time she reached the bottom, her shoulders and neck were stiff, her arms were shaking from the effort, and her fingers were numb. She pulled off the gloves, briskly rubbing her hands together and stomped her feet in a small circle, trying to regain circulation and warm her limbs up a bit. Her breath came out in white puffs, and she crinkled her nose to loosen the ice building up inside. The Carhartt's she wore were now a dark brown, snow and mud having soaked into them on her descent and she knew that time was soon going to be a crucial factor.

She stood in a large section of trampled earth, the large indentation reminiscent of a recently bull dozed clearing and she glanced at the hill behind her, taking in the splintered stumps and fresh logs lying haphazardly around the perimeter. She shook her head, not willing to waste time pondering what had happened and pulled her gloves back on, carefully picking her way through the debris towards the cab.

The truck had come to rest on the driver's side, sandwiching itself around three large trees, and the windshield and hood were packed tightly into a mountain of impassable earth and snow that spilled over the cab. She ran the beam of the flashlight over the truck's underside to determine a route upwards, squinting against the heavy snowflakes.

A combination of the gloves, grease, and moisture hindered her progress as she doggedly scaled the underside of the rig, and finally scrambled over the edge and dropped onto her stomach atop the passenger door. She swiped at the snow covering the door and peered into the cracked window, the flashlight revealing what appeared to be a figure, slumped sideways yet still held in place by a seatbelt.

Her voice sounded muffled, and snow swirled around on the glass as she shouted and pounded her fist against the pane. Getting no response she banged the edge of the flashlight against the glass, wincing at the loud noise and still she could detect no movement.

Her gloved hand moved in an arc, pushing more snow off the door until she'd freed the door handle. Jamie removed one of her gloves, as they proved too thick to grasp underneath the metal clasp, and shook her hand wincing as the frozen metal stung her fingers. She clenched her jaw, slid her fingers under the clasp and pulled hard. Her fingers slipped off the smooth surface and in frustration she hammered the door with her fist and shouted several expletives.

She looked around, gasping for breath and noted that the snow and dark were beginning to meld into one. She tried to ignore the voice in her head that sounded like Mike, telling her it was useless and to get out.

Instead, Jamie pulled her knees under her, one hand reaching behind for the small ice axe she carried on her pack, and with a grunt rose to her knees and swung the pick hard at the glass. The pick bounced back with a ka-chink sound and left only a small chip in the glass for her effort. Useless, the voice in her head reiterated, and then she brought the pick down with both arms and a warrior's yell.

There was no tinkling of broken glass, just a loud thump as the window disintegrated under the last blow and fell away. Jamie barely caught herself on the edge, her momentum halted with her left forearm and pain shot through her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and pushed back, reaching for the flashlight.

The interior of the cab was warmer than the outside and at first Jamie was a little disoriented by the unusual smell, until the small beam of light illuminated the grotesque head lying on the bottom and staring in an open scream back at her.

She threw herself across the truck, losing the contents of her stomach between the cab and trailer. Tears stung her eyes as she continued retching, the cold momentarily forgotten.

+housemd+housemd+

House jerked awake and pain descended like an avalanche. He ground his teeth together and grasped the frame close to his chest in an effort to brace himself for the onslaught.

His fingertips were numb; no tingling in the ends to remind him blood was steadily pumping through his body. He could feel them push against his cheek as a solid pressure and only the flat of his hand felt the prickly stubble of his beard.

His eyes stung and for a moment he imagined a slight breeze, quickly dismissing it as the warmth of his hand slid over his icy ear.

Hypothermia wouldn't be so bad he mused, wishing that he'd remained asleep and cheerless with the thought he had nothing but more pain to look forward to. With only partial exposure of his body to the cold he pictured himself losing an arm, should he be rescued and bit back a sob. He was already a cripple, could the universe be that cruel and twisted? He began to plead, with any higher power, if there in fact was such a thing that might be listening, that he be spared any further suffering. Just let it end, he thought and again his father's voice berating him for quitting and taking the easy way out.

I'm hallucinating, he thought, his eyes drawn to flash of light that disappeared when he tried to focus in the dark. He thought he heard a dog bark, but when he held his breath the sound had vanished. Was that movement? He turned his head again, and now there was a beam of light that moved over the window like a miniature spotlight and he had to blink against the brightness.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice came out more of a hoarse whisper and he tried again.

A dark mass obliterated the light as something large crashed beside him and he found himself squinting against a blinding sun. He swung wildly, connecting solidly with the annoyance and the flashlight beam danced sideways as its owner cursed.

Having unbuckled and let the passenger fall, Jamie had leaned in to catch a glimpse of the sleeper and was astonished to find a pair of glassy blue eyes staring back at her. She was saved the worry of checking for life when an arm unexpectedly knocked the flashlight away.

She pulled back out and shifted around to lower herself feet first into the cab, bracing her boots on the outer edge of the driver's seat and then squatted to take in the survivor and his surroundings. She hastily surveyed the bunks and then focused on the trapped man.

"Who?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

"Name's Jamie," she began steadily, hoping her voice didn't mirror her concern as she shrugged off the backpack and pulled it around in front of her. "I'm a Park Ranger, and I'm here to get you out."

What she wouldn't give to have Mike or another person here, and then scolded herself, as wishful thinking wouldn't improve matters.

His eyes watched her while she dug through the pack and he still wore an astonished expression as if not quite believing what he was seeing. She gave him a reassuring smile and held up a small flask of liquid to his lips.

"Here, drink this," she said tipping the container.

He coughed when the liquid hit his throat and Jamie turned, swiping her face with the back of her sleeve to remove the droplets of whiskey from her face.

Jamie removed her gloves, wedged the flashlight behind the passenger seat to provide optimal lighting in the cramped space and placed her hand on the man's forehead. He furrowed his brow at her actions.

"That's supposed to help?" He closed his eyes, his face softening a little and Jamie noted he looked rather handsome when she didn't focus on those piercing eyes.

Dried blood was caked in dark trails down a face that was lined with a few wrinkles, and she let her fingers follow the trail to a cut hidden under a matting of brown and grey hair. Her thumb rubbed across his forehead and those blue eyes opened again, his gaze was focused elsewhere.

She picked up his exposed arm and squeezed his cold hand between her warm ones lightly as she smiled tentatively.

"Do you have a name, Mister?" Those blue eyes continued to stare right through her, seeing something else, and then he slowly nodded; his eyelids drooped heavily and began to close.

Jamie raised her voice a little to grab his attention, beginning to rub his hand between hers. "C'mon, Mister. I need you to stay awake, tell me your name, can you remember what happened?"

"Too tired," he mumbled.

Jamie shook his shoulder, and then slapped his face lightly, rubbing his cheeks with her thumbs and the side of his neck with her fingers. He tried to shake her off, but Jamie stubbornly continued the massage and talking to him. His eyes popped open and this time he was focused on her face and glaring.

"You're an idiot," he growled, twisting his neck out of her grasp.

She dropped her own eyes and bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning with relief as she moved slightly to ease the cramping in her legs.

"Who the hell gives hypothermia patients whiskey? And not the cheap crap either."

Jamie laughed aloud as her gaze studied the interior of the sleeping compartment.

"Nice to know someone appreciates my efforts, and my guess is that you aren't in danger of freezing to death quite yet. Might be a different story when we get you out of here."

"Duffel bag."

She stopped and eyed him, looking for any signs of shock. He stared back evenly before rolling his eyes and pointing past her boots.

"Bag," he shouted, and she instinctively pivoted and reached down to find a black bag under the discarded blanket. She pulled it up to her lap and unzipped it as he pulled the bag open with his free hand, frantic to reach something.

He let out a sigh as his fingers curled around an amber pill bottle and he had the lid in his mouth trying to pry the top off before Jamie tore her gaze away from the stash inside. She gently wrapped her hand around his and opened the bottle, spilling two of the white pills into his palm and watched as he gratefully dry swallowed them. She offered the flask again and this time he managed to swallow all that he took.

She didn't ask about the pills as she closed the bag again, setting it down next to her backpack and returned the flask to the inside of her jacket. She froze, not daring to move when the back of his hand slid across her cheek.

"Thanks."

She could only nod, not trusting herself to talk and blinked rapidly as she turned away to scrounge around for any items she could use to extract him from the bunks, all the while too aware of the lifeless body below her. She'd managed to drape the blanket over the corpse and pushed it under the steering wheel to give herself a little more room to move in.

She'd located a small hydraulic jack under the passenger seat and with a little help from the stranger and her muscle, they managed to sandwich it between the frames close to his right leg. He'd been tense and watched every movement like a hawk ready to pounce. He continued to stare as she dug under the seat for the bar.

Jamie began to hum to herself, hoping her makeshift plan would work, and brushed another fine layer of snow off her head as she held the bar out victoriously. Blue Eyes, she still hadn't learned his name, had offered bits of advice, which she'd begin to wish he'd keep to himself. Most of his remarks were scathing and a bit crude, totally opposite of the thanks, which had seemed genuine at the time. Now she wasn't so certain. She paused, and tilted her head back, the snow turning to water as it landed on her face.

Indy had been barking on and off for the past twenty minutes and she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling. They'd been separated before on rescue attempts and he normally kept silent, this sounded more like a warning and she already had too much to worry about.

"So is this a rescue, or are you enjoying the scenery?"

She winced when she shoved a cold hand inside the waist of her pants to gain a little warmth in her fingers, almost dropping the bar as he waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Can I warm mine up too?" He waved his hand in the air and she lightly swatted it away, attaching the bar to the jack. She began pumping the lever up and down, a little more aggressively than it warranted and was concentrating on the motions, not realizing she'd started humming Behind Blue Eyes.

Inch by inch the bunks were separating and she was able to slide a hand between the layers and felt a little warmth from his torso.

"Damn, you're cold!"

"Make up your mind; you called me an idiot earlier."

"Take your pick," he replied between clenched teeth, the pain increasing as the weight was removed.

She offered him two more of his Vicodin, having read the label before giving them to him, and let him have another swallow of the liquor, hoping to at least keep his morale up.

She knew once she removed him from the cab his odds of surviving the cold would drop significantly. She looked down at the driver's door and swore, calculating there was already another 2-3 inches of snowfall in the time she'd been here. Wanting to cry with frustration, she again attacked the jack with renewed vigor.

Blue Eyes was heavier than he looked as she braced herself and tugged his lanky frame out from between the bunks. The space between the seats proved awkward and she'd been forced to wrap a blanket under his arms and pull from the front of the cab, nearly dropping him before she could help brace him against the divider frame. He'd been practically useless the whole time, except to stiffen as pain seized him, so she was frequently pulling dead weight.

The pain became too much for him and he passed out. She finally gave up trying to get a coat on him, and instead zipped it up around him. She tied a blanket around his waist, at first thinking he'd died when she caught a whiff of urine, and then realized he'd only lost control of his bodily functions, she almost cried with relief.

Her arms trembled from the exertion and her legs were stiff, and yet she still had to get him out of the truck.

She grabbed as many blankets and sheets as she could, and then hoisted the duffle bag, opened the glove box and dumped all of its contents into the bag, tossing it out of the window above and followed it out.

She could barely make out the beams of the jeep's spotlights and the cold wind hit her hard. She shivered as the sweat magnified the cold, and shook the snow off the emergency backpack. She wasn't going to get a break it seemed.

Jamie worked quickly despite her stiff and almost numb fingers, to jury-rig a harness and then looped the rope around the truck's axle for leverage. She climbed back into the cab, thankful for the brief respite from the wind and wrapped Blue Eyes like a mummy, fastening the blanket and sheet wrappings around him with thin bungee chords, but not before securing heat pads against his chest, abdomen and one across his groin. Every little bit of heat she could save him, would give them both a little more time.

When she'd finally removed him from between the bunks, his right ankle had been twisted awkwardly and the swelling had already increased. She'd found a cane and used that as a partial tourniquet, wrapping up to the knee with an ace bandage.

Maybe she should change his nickname to King Tut she thought, although the depictions she remembered of the famous boy king had brown eyes not blue. She double-checked he was snug as a bug, grimacing at her own silly ramblings as she worked steadily and continued humming.

Either time had slowed, or getting him out of the truck was faster than she would have thought possible. She lowered him to the ground, falling on her back beside him and sucking in snow along with air, just relishing the feeling of not moving. One quick snow angel for luck before she rolled to her knees and pushed up, looking down at the wrapped man beside her.

"It's far from over," she stated eyeing the distant lights. "But I've got a new respect for the cavewoman having to club a mate over the head and drag him home." she grunted as she hunched forward pulling the inert figure behind her, one step at a time.

"Put one foot in front of the other," she chanted silently as her steps sunk into the knee deep snow.

Indy's continued barking seemed to spur her on, and soon all that existed in her world was the small bit of progress she made with each step.

The inside of her nose was crystallized and she ran the back of her glove across her upper lip now and again to catch the snot that insisted on running. Her knee gave out and she stumbled forward letting go of her burden to catch herself. Arms buried to her chest she leaned back and shook her arms clear and then tried to stand. She picked up what appeared to be a twig, and then laughed aloud as she found herself looking at the end of the cable she'd used to lower herself into the ravine.

"See that Blue Eyes, we're about home." She let her gaze sweep over the darkened world being buried around them and was never happier to leave someplace. She ached in every part of her body and was beginning to sense the dangerous effects the cold was having on her. It took her a few minutes to hook herself into the harness and tie Blue Eyes to her. Then she let out a piercing whistle, and felt the tug of the cable as it straightened the slack pulling taut and began towing them up. She'd have to remember to give Indy and extra treat later that evening.

The ascension was slow enough it was like walking up a wall and she managed to avoid most of the outcroppings. She'd have a few bruises, as she fell numerous times and was dragged upwards unable to halt the steady progress.

The spotlights were just beginning to show over the crest when she slipped again and fell on her rear. As she twisted sideways and tried to get a foot under her, the boot lost traction and she landed on her shoulder and felt a sickening crunch. She didn't suppress the scream as she rolled away from the rock, her arm hanging loosely. Doggedly she clung tightly with her other arm to Blue Eyes and let the cable drag them the rest of the way.

Her eyelashes were frozen from tears as they crested the hill and she yelled, "halt," letting herself cry for a brief moment as she caught her breath. Indy began to lick at her tears and she managed a tiny chuckle as his warm tongue swiped across her face.

"Glad to see you too," she mumbled, raising her right hand and pulling the glove off with her teeth.


	12. Chapter 12

Jamie's fingers were stiff and partially numb as she unhooked the harness with her right hand. The silver clasp took several tries to pry apart as her fingers kept sliding off and the metallic clink signaled another failure. With a quick jerk and twist of her wrist she slid the hook out. The edge scraped across the back of her thumb peeling away the skin, leaving a miniature trail of red behind.

She rolled to her right grimacing from the pain radiating from her shoulder and struggled to her knees. She was panting from the exertion and what she feared was shock, and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The snow melted below her hand as it sunk into the fresh powder, even as the edges caved inward, filling the sudden hole.

Indy nuzzled her face and she forced herself to sit back and waved him away. He took a few steps back, turning towards the darkness growling, the fur on his back raising. Jamie peered into the falling snow and couldn't see anything beyond but blackness, the bright spotlights blinding her to outside of their range, but she knew his senses were sharper and something had him spooked.

With an effort she stood and willed her shaky legs to move to the driver's door, wondering how she was going to lift Blue Eyes into the jeep. The inner warmth of the jeep's interior made her realize just how far the temperatures outside had dropped. She was thankful she'd left the jeep running. Unzipping the backpack she put together a makeshift sling for her arm, while desperately sifting through ideas in her head. As she tied the sling around her chest, effectively immobilizing her left arm she'd come up with an idea.

The brilliant plan wasn't going to be pretty, she decided, but it just might work. She opened the hatch and pulled out the back board that also doubled as a sled, for transporting injured victims. Using a few ropes and the roof rack, she was certain the extra leverage would give her the means to lift Blue Eyes onto the back bumper and allow her to push him into the vehicle.

The cold frightened her the most. He had already been exposed long enough to the outside air and leaving the jeep open for the time it would take to move him, she'd lose all that valuable heat. And if she didn't get her own butt in gear, she reminded herself, he'd really fit the description of a mummy, frozen solid.

Replacing her now soaked gloves, with another pair, she slipped small heat packs into them, and then carried the sked back to the wrapped form of Blue Eyes. Jamie couldn't stop the sharp jabs of pain that exploded through her upper body with every motion, and she let her tears run free. She tried turning the hurting into channeled anger and focused solely on getting them both to safety.

She rolled the inert figure to his left and shoved the sked underneath him before rolling him back. She was grateful for the push buckle bindings that would hold him securely. Her fingers, uncooperative in the finer movements required for tying or threading. Pulling the makeshift sled with its burden to the rear of the jeep, she waded through the deep snow, grunting with each step. She thought about the many times she'd ridden on inner tubes over the trails in conditions like this, and Jingle bells seemed aptly appropriate. She began humming, in between grunts, and matching her steps to the rhythm of the song. Anything to keep her mind distracted and boost her spirits.

The uselessness of her left arm as she looped the rope over the roof rack and around the hatch door proved to be a slight hindrance, but she managed to wrestle Blue Eyes into the jeep. She had moved the passenger seat forward and dropped the back, allowing for extra room. He had groaned a few times while she positioned him inside, but his eyes remained closed. She could only hope her efforts weren't causing him added damage.

Indy was still pacing restlessly and continuing to stare off into the woods. A sharp command and he reluctantly turned, looked over his shoulder once, and then jumped into the back of the jeep. Jamie glanced at her watch, the digital readout showed five seventeen. She leaned heavily against the vehicle, winded from her exertions and closed her eyes. Almost home, but not there yet, she reminded herself and blew out a long breath. And with the weather, they were still a few hours from home.

She removed her gloves and held her hands against the air vents, willing her fingers to thaw. What little warmth was blowing past her fingers helped for a moment. Looking out the window she knew what it felt like to be trapped in a snow globe.

The jeep wheezed as she backed away from the ledge, the tires spinning free occasionally as they lost traction, and turned towards home. She could barely make out the snow markers along the road as the vehicle crept forward. She turned on the CD player to lighten the mood and help keep her focused, singing along with the Eagles. The headlights showed a few yards ahead, and a steady curtain of falling snow that was almost mesmerizing.

The only thought running through her mind was soon there would be a warm house, warm food, warm shower and warm bed. Exhaustion was setting in.

+++house md+++house md+++

Mike was pacing between the computer and the radio. His right hand twirling a half-dollar over his knuckles as he walked, the other thrust in a front pocket. He watched the computer screen as he covered the room in five steps. The radar was showing a bright red pattern over the local area with more of the same sweeping down from the north. And as he turned back towards the radio, Kieran entered the room holding two cups of coffee. He handed one to Mike who, took it absently and nodded towards the receiver, the coin still traveling over his other hand.

"Still nothing," he muttered, taking a sip of the hot liquid.

Kieran set his mug down in front of the set and slid into the seat, readjusting dials and making the obligatory notes in a logbook. "We'll be getting reports in shortly; I've already alerted the local ham radio operators to keep an ear out." He didn't have to finish the 'for her' part of the sentence.

Both men aware of the dangers of getting caught out in this kind of storm and from the distant look on his boss's face, Kieran knew only one of them would be getting any sleep that night.

He glanced up at the clock. Only five fifteen, and already it seemed so much later with the darkened skies outside the window and the influx of calls they'd had. At least the lodge had taken their warning seriously and the tourists and help were all accounted for. This would give the non-locals something to tell their kids and grandkids he mused.

"—to the lodge." Mike's voice broke through his thoughts.

Kieran started and glanced over at Mike who was pulling his heavy coat on. Mike waggled his hand-held radio at him and grabbed a set of snowmobile keys.

"Keep in touch."

Kieran wondered what had prompted Mike to suddenly want to make the trek up to the lodge. The caretakers hadn't reported any problems, and had assured them everything was fine. When the door closed behind the older man, calmness replaced the pent up whirlwind that had been lurking at the edges and Kieran leaned back in his own chair, propping his boots upon the desk.

He listened to the whine of the snowmobile engine fade into the distance. His boss had it bad, he grinned to himself hoping Jamie was all right. She was good people and he enjoyed her company, but he thought of her more as an older sister. He logged the first caller, and began the evening rotation of check-ins.

+++house md+++house md+++

A loud groan was issuing from the cocoon Blue Eyes was wrapped in and Jamie stopped singing and turned the music down. Bracing the steering wheel with her knees, she reached over pulling back part of the blanket from his face. She gave him a reassuring smile before turning back to watch for markers.

"Can't feel anything."

"You're talking, that's a positive," she replied, glancing at him through the hazy dashboard lights..

"So I'm not dead," he said weakly after a few minutes had passed.

Jamie shook her head forgetting it was too dark to see much inside the jeep. "Nope, you're not dead yet."

"It's cold."

A red warning light caught Jamie's attention as a loud pop and hissing drowned out the Eagles. Clouds of steam billowed out from under the hood, hiding the snow in a gray fog. She coughed at the overpowering smell of antifreeze, popped the hood and was already climbing out of the jeep as it came to a stop.

Indy took over her vacated spot, the door shutting before he'd had the chance to escape. His nose was pressed to the glass and he started barking, leaving a trail of wet nose prints across the window. Jamie opened her mouth to yell at him and stopped in mid breath, slowly spinning around as she stumbled against the jeep and fumbled for the door handle.

The dog pushed past her as the door opened and halted a few feet beyond her, legs spread and hackles raised. His growl was one of territorial possession and a warning to the unseen threat. Jamie wasted no time clambering back into the jeep, panting heavily as she pulled the door closed.

"What's wrong?" Blue Eyes was struggling to gain a better view and grunting with the exertion. Jamie placed a hand on his chest pushing him back and tried to keep her voice calm.

"The jeep blew a radiator hose. It's going to take a little longer to get back."

"Dog went nuts when you screamed." His words came out short and choppy with the effort of saying them.

Jamie didn't dare to correct him that it hadn't been her that was screaming. She gripped the steering wheel tightly cursing her bad luck and resigning herself to the inevitable. They would be traveling on foot. She began thinking out loud.

"Moving you out of the jeep isn't going to be pleasant, but after that you can lie back and enjoy the ride."

"Pills, duffel bag," he croaked as the only acknowledgement he understood any of what she had just told him.

Indy was once more pacing beside the vehicle, and Jamie pulled her hood up, grabbed the large flashlight and dropped the jeep keys into her pocket. She stepped back out into the night, keeping one eye on the darkness as she moved to the rear of the jeep.

House muttered a few swear words as the sked was lowered to the ground.

"Thought you were rescuing me, not trying to kill me."

Jamie ignored his scathing criticism of her impromptu unloading technique, grinding her teeth against the wave of pain encompassing her as she took his full weight trying to cushion his fall. She found herself sitting on her ass, her back against the bumper of the jeep.

"Answer me, damn it."

Jamie shook her head to clear the haze, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and sleep. Blue Eyes was still yelling and now Indy was nuzzling her cheek, his cold nose startling her. She sat upright, flinching as her shoulder reminded her of its presence and carefully got to her feet.

"Get my pills," he ordered, and Jamie opened the duffel bag. She managed to get the bottle open and put two of the white pills to his lips. He took them greedily and swallowed without a word of thanks, closing his eyes to wait for some relief. "Who's gonna rescue you?" He asked in a calmer voice.

Jamie wished she had an answer for that, covering him with the rest of the blankets, tucking in the edges, and then set her backpack and his duffel bag over his legs. She tied a length of rope around her waist and bent over to buckle on a pair of snow shoes. Less than two miles from home, and that short distance loomed like a titanic obstacle.

The flashlight allowed her very limited visibility and leaning forward at an angle, she begin to pull the sled. The snowshoes gave her a little more balance in the fresh powder, but with the added weight behind her the going was snail-paced slow. Indy plodded beside her, occasionally a foot dropping into the snow and sending him off balance. He'd lunge forward, shake himself off and wait for Jamie to catch up.

She lost count of the number of times she'd sang the children's Christmas song, "Put One Foot in Front of the Other", but it kept her going. Her legs were beginning to feel like limp noodles, shaking with every step, and she knew she was losing body heat quickly as sweat continued to trickle down her back.

Indy's barking and playful bounding ahead and then running back while dropping his head onto his front paws in the snow, alerted her to the fact she was close to home. A few more choruses sung and she could begin to make out the outline of lights from the window. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so happy and relieved to be home.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Many thanks to those that are continuing to read, I really do appreciate your patience, and comments.

Jamie stumbled forward the last few steps, doggedly straining against the weighted rope that threatened to anchor her, legs shaking with the effort, and feeling nothing but cold in her feet and toes. She pushed through the edge of the heavy-duty tarp hanging over the entrance and tugged the sled into the covered carport behind her.

The dark room appeared cavernous without the jeep parked in its usual spot, but it provided a break from the wind as the tarp settled back into place. A white trail of snow disappeared under the edge, the only indication of it being disturbed. Only the cold remained as she loosened the straps on her snowshoes and kicked them aside.

She wanted to laugh and cry, all at the same time, not sure which emotion best expressed her relief while she propelled her legs the last lengthy span that reached a few feet to the cabin's door. The beam of the flashlight danced shakily over the doorway as her body weaved drunkenly from exhaustion. The hinges groaned loudly in welcome when she pushed through the heavy wooden door, pulling her charge into the entry before collapsing onto a side bench.

Home she thought, as her eyes closed, comforted by the word and place an instant haven and refuge. Indy refused to let her rest, shoving his nose between her thigh and gloved hand repeatedly, until she acknowledged him with a pat on the head. He continued nuzzling her arm, becoming more insistent with his efforts until she finally pushed away from the wall and stood up.

"A girl can't get a break," she told him wearily, stripping her gloves and setting the flashlight on its end atop the bench. The dim mushroom of light bathed the room in grey shadows.

She grasped the jacket's zipper only to have it slide out of her uncooperative fingers. It took several more tries before she could pull the zipper down halfway. The rope still tied around her waist was knotted in a snow-packed, frozen mass and she didn't bother trying to untie it. Instead, she reached for the hunter's knife hanging by the door and sliced through the ropes close to the sled, keeping the blade a good distance away from her and Blue Eyes.

The next order of business was to stoke the fire in the wood stove and then attend to Blue Eyes. She took a quick peek under the wraps and relieved to see him respond when her cold fingers slipped under his stubbled jaw to check his pulse. His skin was a lot warmer than her hand, and his pulse beat steadily against her fingertips.

"I'll just get the fire going and then we'll see about making you a little more comfortable." She didn't wait for an answer as she busied herself with a routine that had become habit for her.

Adding a couple pieces of cut kindling to the orange coals she gradually coaxed a small but steady flame, and then lit the pair of oil lamps on the hearth above. Soon the room took on a more homely appeal, the crackling fire and yellow lighting chasing the shadows back.

She filled a teapot and two large kettles with water, setting them atop the stove to heat and added a few larger chunks of wood, closing the metal door. All the while she kept up a monologue of what she was doing, and humming odd tunes in between.

Indy had settled next to House and lay with his head on his paws, watching her move around the cabin. He'd lifted his head once, when she'd opened the cupboard where she kept his treats, then slowly lowered his head again, his eyes never wavering from the dish on the floor. The multicolored biscuits bounced in the dish, creating a hollow ring like a muffled bell, and he stood and padded into the kitchen when Jamie settled back onto the bench. The treats vanished almost instantly.

Jamie kicked out of her boots, wiggling her toes through the thick grey wool socks with the help of her hand. She still felt nothing in them, but at least there was movement.

Untying the shoulder sling, she moved her left arm to the side gritting her teeth at the movement. Fresh tears stung her eyes and she blew out a hissed breath, holding perfectly still. Eye squeezed shut until she began taking short breaths, her right shoulder dropping as she willed herself to relax.

It took a painstakingly long time to pull her jacket out from underneath the rope, unzip and remove the coat, letting it drop to the tiled floor. The overalls followed next, and it was a small relief to have the weight no longer pulling on her shoulder. She slid the rope down over her hips with a little push and dropped it on top of the pile of clothing.

Definitely not the fashion in polite society this season, she thought looking down at the dark blue thermal underwear she wore, kneeling next to the wrapped Blue Eyes. She began removing the layers of blankets.

She yelped in surprised when he spoke.

"You stopped." His voice reminded her of Clint Eastwood in the Dirty Harry movies where he'd be asking the bad guy if he felt lucky.

"I stopped what," she asked, her fingers fumbling with the cold metal clasps as she lifted her head to study his face.

His eyelids closed, opened halfway then shut again, as if the effort proved too much. His blue eyes had taken on a glassy expression and she willed her fingers to move quicker. A sound between a groan and a hum made her pause. He did it again with a little more force, his face scrunching with the effort and she touched his cheek as she began humming "Baby, It's Cold Outside." His face softened and relaxed as she continued, and Jamie was thankful he couldn't see her tears falling as she recalled the last time anyone had wanted to hear her hum.

Removing the last few blankets, he began shivering, his muscles tensing with spasms as he gasped for breath. The heat pads had turned to slush, their usefulness long spent and she tossed them aside. His jeans were wet through, and the bottom half of his shirt and t-shirt were soaked, the stench of urine causing her throat to constrict. The only plus was that it had helped to keep him warm.

She dug quickly through his duffle bag, finding only a worn t-shirt, a couple pair of boxers, and a pair of mismatched socks, but no jeans. And more than enough amber pill bottles of Vicodin, all prescribed by various doctors. She could worry about that later. Setting the bag aside, she went in search of scissors, washcloth and a towel.

The arctic temperature in the room was beginning to subside, the heat from the stove radiating outwards, and she could no longer see her breath. Between the pain shooting from her shoulder with every motion, and the warmth settling into her own chilled body; it was only a matter of time before she would collapse.

The scissors made short work of the jeans as the blades followed the outside seam of his left pant leg. She'd removed the cane, noting his ankle was twisted and swollen over the top of his sneaker, looking as if someone had shoved a balloon inside of his sock. Cutting the jeans had loosened some of the pressure and as the scissors moved past his knee, he jerked his leg away, and screamed in pain.

Jamie dropped the scissors and pushed down on his lower thigh, keeping her voice calm and trying to reassure him.

"Relax, I need to remove your jeans and get you into some dry clothes."

House's eyes were open wide and he'd managed to grab the towel and drag it over his midsection, grunting with the effort. Placing her hand around his cold one, she gently removed it, setting it beside him again, but making no effort to remove the towel.

"D d didn't mean too," he panted, his chest rising and falling quicker as he began thrashing and crying out at the same time. Between stuttered gasps he'd beg for it, whatever it was, to end and then mutter apologies while his arms flailed at some unseen assailant he was trying to hold off.

His arm caught Jamie with a quick blow to the injured shoulder and she dropped back onto her ass, grabbing her own arm and sucking in air as she bit her lip to stop from crying out. Her stomach twisted in painful recollections.

Indy had rushed forward, front paws braced and barking with short sharp bursts at House, which seemed to only antagonize his delirium.

Jamie spoke a quick word and Indy dropped to all fours, his body tense as a coiled spring never taking his eyes off of House. She scooted closer, careful to keep an eye on his arm that now hugged the towel, his hand moving towards his chin, reminding her of a small child clutching his blanket. She hummed Brahm's Lullaby, reaching her hand out to lay on his forearm.

He jerked at her touch but she continued humming and moving slowly, his eyes looking past her at something only he could see.

He shrunk away as she lifted her hand a few inches and moved it towards his face, then he froze, swallowed hard and with wide-opened eyes watched her hand. She continued humming, lightly touching the back of her hand to his stubbled cheek and rubbing it lightly, unaware she was holding her own breath.

His body trembled as he turned his cheek into her touch, his eyes focusing for a moment on hers and she saw a frightened child for a split second before his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness. Jamie brushed her fingertips across his forehead and slid her hand down to cup his cheek. She knew part of his story, and was saddened that she'd been a witness to his outburst, another part of her angered and defiant at the injustices of the world.

+++house md+++house md+++

Wilson jumped slightly, not expecting anyone to knock on his door this time of night. He laid his pen down as Cuddy poked her head into his office and stepped inside.

"You're here late."

He swept his hand over the open files strewn across the desk. "Just finishing up some paperwork, and I could say the same about you."

Cuddy nodded, indicating the hallway behind her. "Last minute meeting with a prospective donor. Thought I'd check on the night owls." She gave him a half-hearted smile and he noticed her eyes settle on his cell phone sitting next to his computer screen.

He picked it up; checking, for the hundredth time that day, if he'd missed any calls. "Still nothing from the prodigal son," he sighed, replacing it on the desk.

Cuddy pursed her lips and Wilson couldn't help adding, "At least you're getting some peace and quiet."

"A little too quiet." Wilson raised an eyebrow as Cuddy waved away any response he was going to make. "Don't get used to it. It's just the calm before the storm. Go home and get some rest, Wilson. The paperwork will still be there in the morning."

"Yeah," he agreed, standing and grabbing his jacket, his other hand rolling down his shirt sleeves. "Wanna hit the coffee shop around the corner?"

"Sounds good I'll get my things. Maybe we can work out a plan to keep House in line. Oh, what am I talking about? It's really late and I'm becoming delusional. A cup of coffee would be nice," she admitted, rolling her eyes at her own absurd theories involving House.

Wilson slipped his cell phone into his pocket and turned the lights out. "So I'm not the only one that misses him?"

They shared a small chuckle as Wilson closed his office door behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

The snowmobile came to rest with the tips of its skis nudging the bottom edge of the rough, flat rock steps leading up to the lodge's front doors. This time of year the grand old lodge, built by hand in the 1950's, resembled an old bear hunkered in his cave awaiting the spring thaw.

Wide grey stones where children, under the warm sun of summer months, normally sat in small huddles feeding the squirrels, chipmunks and the occasional brave chickadees, while their older siblings made friends with the lodge's bloodhound Bruno, an oversized child himself. The parents would congregate as overseers along the wooden deck that circled the lodge, now harboring streaks of broom swept snow patterns across the stony grey surface.

Mike twisted the key in the ignition and the growl of the engine faded as the echo carried through the darkening forest, replaced by the hiss of snow melting against the heated snowmobile hood. He removed his helmet and stomped his way up the steps, kicking off the clumps of the snow stubbornly stuck to his boots and lower pant legs. The exertion helped release a bit of the turmoil he was struggling with as his mind conjured one disaster after another that involved Jamie out there alone.

Rusty hinges creaked their welcome as the outer screen door opened and Carl, the lodge's caretaker, greeted him warmly.

"Evening, Mike. Figured we'd be seeing you, just got off the radio with Kieran. Says there's a nasty storm front a comin'." Carl hooked a thumb towards the closed door as he led Mike further into the lodge's open main room. "Looks like it's gonna be a record maker," he stated matter of fact.

Mike agreed with his assumption of the blizzard descending upon them, as he'd been witness to the long term radar scenes playing on the screen back at the station. From the weather bureau's assessment, this could prove to be one of those 'storms of the century' that grandparents would regale to their grandchildren for years, and it was part of his job to insure those in the outlying areas and under his jurisdiction made it through safely.

"According to the National Weather Association we're in for more than a healthy dose of snow, although the temperatures shouldn't drop too much. I just thought I'd check on you and Gloria before I holed up and rode it out."

Carl waved him off impatiently and continued across the spacious room, his limp informing Mike that he was well aware of the incoming storm. Fifteen years earlier, Carl had been caught in an avalanche and broken almost every bone in his body, yet he was still alive when rescuers found him two days later. He'd healed fairly well considering the extent of the injuries, about the only thing noticeable was the limp, as the left hip had been replaced and never been the same. Days like this, Carl's hip was probably a better indicator of what they were really in for, rather than satellite imaging.

Mike unzipped his jacket as the two men stepped into the homiest part of the lodge, the kitchen. Mike could remember as a child spending numerous evenings listening to the grownups discussing current events while he worked on a large mug of homemade hot cocoa.

Gloria, Carl's wife, stood at her familiar post next to the blackened pot bellied stove. A kettle burbled on the top and the smell of homemade bread emanated from the iron confines made Mike's mouth water. He'd always wondered why she preferred the wood stove over the modern range tucked into the cupboards along the wall, but had never thought to ask.

"Mikey," she exclaimed, hurrying to grab another mug. He'd long since stopped calling them Mr. and Mrs. Mullen, but that had never stopped Gloria from referring to him as Mikey. A name he'd outgrown years ago.

"Evening, Gloria."

"The usual?" she asked, already assuming he would be staying for coffee and possibly dinner as well. Carl wasn't any help as he tried to hide his grin and settled at the kitchen table with his own half-full cup of steaming coffee.

"That'll be fine, thank you, although I don't plan on staying long."

"Didn't figure you would be, young folk are always in a hurry these days. No time to sit and chat." She set the blue mug in front of him and poured him a cup of coffee, setting the black kettle with white speckles back on the stove. Mike reached for the sugar bowl.

"Wanted to make sure you and Carl were going to be all right for the next few days. I'm thinking we're going to lose power and be stuck inside for awhile."

"Already know about the storm that's coming," she interrupted, now busying herself with the dough on the countertop, her back to the men. "Carl's been complaining for days about his hip bothering him. Good thing all the tourists cleared out already, and I told Carl this year we should have closed earlier."

"She says that every year," Carl mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for Mike to hear.

"We'll be perfectly fine until spring if that's how long the storm decides to hang on." Mike couldn't help chuckling at her stubbornness as her husband rolled his eyes.

"And I'd have to take out a mortgage just to settle the score in Gin Rummy by that time." Carl leaned forward, elbows on the table. "So what else is bothering you, son?"

Mike slowly set his mug down; keeping his gaze on it knowing he now had two sets of eyes scrutinizing him. Gloria had turned round to face them, her flour covered hands held up as she, like her husband waited for him to speak. Mike squirmed in his chair not quite sure how to put his fear into words.

"What's Jamie done now?" Carl asked him softly. Mike let out a harsh laugh but Carl wasn't smiling, his face passive as he lifted his own cup.

Mike shook his head, studying the mug again as he turned it slowly in his hands. "Can't seem to raise her." He let out a sigh and told them what little he knew. About Jamie calling in earlier and ignoring his suggestion she head home immediately and wanting instead to check out Fire Road 3. Where Carl interjected with, "She's a strong willed woman", and shot a quick glance at his wife. Mike continued on explaining the broken bursts of conversation after that point and then told about Jamie stumbling on a vehicle wrapped around a tree. He reiterated they hadn't been able to raise her after that point and Mike's narration stopped. The sound of logs popping in the stove seemed to be magnified.

"She'll be fine, Mike," Gloria assured him, Carl assenting.

"It would take more than a little storm to stop her, and besides she's got Indy too," Carl added.

Mike suddenly felt foolish, like a little kid that cried out in the night about monsters in the closet and now that the bedroom lights were on, that monster turned out to be clothes on a hanger.

"I better be getting back," he said quietly, pushing away from the table.

"Before you go," Gloria said, bringing a backpack from the pantry. Mike raised an eyebrow.

"We knew you'd be up this ways, so the Missus and I put together a few things for you boys." Carl interjected, rising from the table. Mike could only nod as he accepted the pack, a small knot in his throat he couldn't seem to swallow.

It was the same backpack Jamie had arrived with five years ago when he'd first met her. "Don't need much more than this and good friends to get by on," she'd told him.

Carl patted him on the shoulder. "I'll see you to the door."

Gloria gave Mike a quick hug then tried to dab the flour stains off his shoulders with a towel, Carl already steering him towards the door.

"Don't go frettin' about Jamie. Like I told you, she's one tough woman, and knows enough to keep herself safe. As for you and Kieran, I'll be expecting them check-ins, and we'll have us a party after this clears." Carl offered Mike his hand before opening the front door and squeezed Mike's reassuringly.

Mike shifted his stance and glanced anxiously at the door. "I just have a bad feeling, Carl."

"We all get those, Mike. It's nature's way of keeping us on our toes, keeping us prepared to deal with what's coming. Now git on out of here before you have to learn Oklahoma Gin."

The men shared a laugh as Mike stepped out into the heavily falling snow.

+++house md+++house md+++

Jamie had finally given up trying to think of a way to get her house guest into bed. Even with a good shoulder, she doubted she would have had the strength to lift him that high. So instead, she did what she was becoming quite adept at. She improvised.

The frame her bed sat on was taller than most beds as it had been designed to allow a fairly good sized dog to sleep underneath. Originally the space had been intended for storage, but allowing Indy under the bed kept her from stumbling over him in the middle of the night when she needed to stoke the fire or make a trip to the bathroom. She pushed the bed up against the wall, but not before having moved the top mattress off and letting it fall onto the floor. Then sitting with her back against the wall, she'd pushed the mattress as far out as her legs would allow her to.

She only had to move Blue Eyes a couple of feet after that to line him up with the mattress. Setting a pillow against his ribs, she pulled the blanket he was still lying on until he was on his side, and then pushed the mattress up against him. After that it was a matter of half pulling half swinging his body onto the mattress.

She collapsed beside him, her lower half still sitting on the floor and the pain from her shoulder blocking out most everything else. Indy's warm tongue on her cheek kept her from blacking out and she reached for him, patting him to assure him she was still conscious.

Jamie squinted to make out the time on her wristwatch and swore. She rolled to her side and slowly pushed herself into a kneeling position, panting with the exertion, her right arm cradling her left against her body. Using Indy for support she rose and made the trip across the room again. There was a small shortwave radio set up at the end of the kitchen counter, sitting atop a small table. She moved over one of the two kitchen chairs and sat down, flipping a couple switches and watching the green and yellow LEDs come to life.

Static was the only thing she received for her troubles. She twisted the tuner knob searching for any type of signal on the output and was rewarded with nothing, no sign of any movement from the needle. She tapped the plastic cover to no avail, keyed the mike, and frowned at the electronic box. Indy's head rested on her thigh, and she absently scratched him behind the ears as she ran her eyes over the receiver. Nothing was out of place, all connections appeared intact, but there was no output registering.

Jamie lifted her head to look at the ceiling where the black antennae coil disappeared into the conduit. She turned the receiver off, the static noise dying as the lights blinked out.

"I'll check it out in the morning," she assured Indy, who gave her hand a lick. "I don't have the energy tonight to climb up on the roof."

She checked on her patient once more. His deep rumbling breathing indicated he was still asleep. She added another log to the fire and grabbed her flannel pajamas, intending to finish changing and then make something to eat. Preferably something hot, quick and easy – chicken noodle soup from the freezer won out.


	15. Chapter 15

House was vaguely aware of the black void he floated in. Aware enough to realize as long as he remained here in this blurred existence; it helped keep the other constant at a tolerable distance.

The other constant, a looming beast he was all too familiar with, named pain. A beast that dug its sharp claws in deeply, deeper even than the tendons and muscles wrapped thickly around his bones. This beast knew how to reach beyond the physical, clutching and tearing its way through his senses until the unrelenting creature owned and branded him its own.

This was the constant that hovered at the outer fringes, waiting, biding its time. There was no escape from the inevitable, but House sensed as long as he floated, or as long as the medicine, those magic white pills continued to work, he was safe for the time being.

He didn't dare allow himself to think of what would happen when the magic began to fade. When the fuzzy edges beyond his sight became sharper and reality descended upon him as an avalanche roaring down a mountain, swallowing everything in its path.

Goosebumps broke out over his skin when he heard the first rumblings of the nightmare. His breath hitched and he knew the beast was returning. When the ringleader, dressed in a black tuxedo, his top hat in one hand, stood in the center ring with his arms outstretched as if trying to embrace the crowd and announced, "This is the end, ladies and gentleman, but before we go, the moment you've all been waiting for."

There was a pause.

The crowd silenced in anticipation. Parents gathered their wide-eyed children to them. Girlfriends clutched at their lovers' arms, there's a collective breath held, and the lights dim.

The clowns' faces, painted white with large red noses and their too big smiles, transform into leering grins with sharpened incisors, their eyes become dark with malice. The music turns from a lilting, brassy march to a haunted, surreal, bass filled refrain. Then in a deep baritone voice, enunciating every syllable so that the words stretch out like thunder rolling across the hills, the ringleader finishes. "We introduce to you." The audience sits stunned with an inherent sense of wrong, waiting for the person next to them to put a stop to it, before it goes too far, yet no one moves.

"One. Final. Show." These last words signal the spotlights, their glare blinding and disorienting and he finds himself trapped. Trapped with no where to run, no place to go. A huddled mass, quivering in the middle of the ring as the snarling beast is released from its cage. He is the victim, the unsuspecting prey, or so the audience is led to believe, a sacrifice to the great beast so that the creature remains sated, its fury contained and only he will suffer its rage.

As if on cue, he feels the magic ebbing away, the sound of seconds ticking by on a clock and he's struck with fear. Fear of the known, fear of the coming beast, fear of the pain. It strikes with a swiftness of a light switch flipping on. The beast's claws sink mercilessly into his thigh and House reacts the only way he knows how.

He screams.

Jamie dropped the wooden spoon she'd been stirring the soup with when House's scream tore through the cabin. She whirled and moved towards the screaming man as Indy jumped to all fours; ears perked forward, eyes alert and tail hanging still.

The now forgotten spoon teetered on the edge of the pan before gracefully giving in to the laws of physics and tumbled end over end towards the floor, an arc of chicken noodle soup followed in its wake. Indy licked his chops and quickly began lapping up the spilled soup, never taking his gaze off House.

Kneeling beside Blue Eyes, Jamie was careful to turn her bad shoulder away from him as she reached to cup his cheek with her good hand, talking softly in what she hoped was a reassuring voice.

"It's okay. Everything's going to be all right. Shhh now, it was only a bad dream. You're safe here." She consoled him and ran her thumb over his cheek, and then smoothed his hair back, as a mother would comfort a frightened child. The screams subsided, turning to shuddering breaths as he appeared to calm under her touch. Or maybe it was the gentleness of her voice combined with the tender touch, and Jamie too began to relax as he calmed.

She gasped and instinctively jerked back when his hand clamped tightly around her wrist. His grip was too strong as she tried to pull her arm back, her hand beginning to throb dully from the blood supply being cut off. She stopped struggling when his eyes suddenly popped open, the blue faded to a greyer shade and the pupils large.. He wasn't looking at her. She was sure he wasn't even seeing her. He was looking through her, and his eyes held indescribable fear.

"Make it stop," he rasped hoarsely, his grip tightening around her wrist as his body convulsed. Jamie could only watch, and wonder who he was addressing, still unable to pull free herself from his hold as her own eyes filled with tears. She was losing feeling in her hand.

He didn't seem to hear her as she continued talking to him in a quiet voice, repeating her earlier words, the shaking in her voice sounding unfamiliar and strange to her. Still she continued on as House ranted that it hurt and begged her to make it stop, avowing he couldn't take anymore. His ranting soon turned to pleas.

House thrashed about, pulling on her arm and throwing her off balance with his movements. Jamie's voice caught in her throat, the way it does when facing into a strong wind, and raised up in pitch an octave when the abrupt motions sent a flare of sharp pain through her aching shoulder, yet she stoically continued her mantra. Tears now falling down her own cheeks, the metallic taste of salt on her lips, and her nose had begun to run causing her to sniff often.

Indy now stood beside her, looking down at the sweat covered man jerking erratically and turned giving Jamie's cheek a swift lick with his tongue, wiping away some of the tears. Jamie's short burst of laughter seemed to intrigue him as he cocked his head inquisitively. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Indy and give him a big hug, close her eyes and find this was all just a bad dream when she opened them again.

She too was exhausted, her body screamed with pain and her nerves were on edge, yet as she glanced back at the pale and pinched face below her she understood this man fought with his own demons and still needed her help.

House's grip around her wrist slowly relaxed and as his fingers loosened their hold, Jamie pulled her hand automatically to her body, flexing her fingers as a glove of pins and needles encompassed the hand. When feeling returned and the numbness wore off, she lifted the kitchen towel that had lain over her shoulder and wiped the sweat from his face and brow, his eyes opening again. This time they gave the illusion of not seeing anything.

"It hurts," he whispered. Tears rolled from the edges of his eyes towards his ears, and Jamie dabbed them away. Movement next to her right leg caused her to tense and turn her head. His hand was kneading the top of his right thigh, the same thigh she'd washed carefully, having seen the large, dimpled scar that stretched across the top. Jamie wanted to kick herself as realization sunk in.

His pills. Where had she left them? She hurried over to the duffle bag, hissing in a breath as her own pain reminded her to move slower, still sitting in the entry and rummaged through it, easily locating one of the amber containers. She cradled a water bottle in her injured arm and hurried back to Blue Eyes. This time, she knelt by his head, keeping a wary eye on his hands. His breathing had slowed, and some focus had come back to his eyes.

Explaining quietly what she was doing as she moved, she lifted his head onto her thigh and managed to get the water bottle open and tucked between her knees. House turned his head towards her when he heard the rattle of the pill bottle and opened his mouth. "Pavlov's dog," Jamie thought in response to his reaction. She placed one of the white tablets on his tongue and he swallowed it before she could retrieve the water bottle. She shook her head at his open mouth.

"You need some liquids too," she chastised him lightly, almost giddy with relief when she saw a little hint of recognition in his eyes.

He clamped his mouth shut as she offered him the water and turned his head away, leaving her to pour water down the side of his cheek and dribbling down his neck. She sighed, wiped the water away and suddenly felt like a mother with a tantrum throwing five-year old that was pleased with himself for getting his own way.

"No water, no pill." She negotiated, offering the water again. "You're more than likely dehydrated. It won't hurt you," she tried convincing him. He kept his lips pursed together in refusal, and kept his eyes averted. Jamie leaned over him until he was forced to make eye contact. "Don't make me play the tough guy." For a moment their eyes locked in a battle of wills and House conceded first, the will to win overshadowed by the need for relief.

Jamie tipped the water bottle again. She kept her face passive, giving no indication that she'd triumphed, and after a couple of swallows of water she gave him the second pill. His features relaxed even further, his face smoothing out as his mind anticipated the welcoming effects from the medicine. Jamie ran her fingers through his short hair speckled with grey, not even guessing at the man's age. "You're going to prove to be quite the handful," she mused aloud. As if in answer the corner of his mouth turned up a little. She couldn't be sure if he was laughing at her, but she had her suspicions.


	16. Chapter 16

Jamie managed to get some soup into her ward without much of a battle, and then quickly polished off a bowl and a good portion of a loaf of bread, Indy accepting the last few pieces of crust. Setting the dishes aside, she looked back towards the bed with its bare box spring mattress and thought how nice it would be to curl up and sleep the rest of the evening.

Blue eyes had his eyes closed, his right hand methodically rubbing his upper thigh, one side of his face scrunching from either effort or pain. More than likely the latter, Jamie surmised, having already downed half a dozen aspirins herself and the pain in her shoulder not subsiding.

She opened a trunk next to the bed and pulled out a large comforter along with a couple of quilts, setting them on the mattress. With the trunk closed again, she dragged one of the quilts beside Blue Eyes and knelt on the floor next to him. His eyes watched her warily as his hand continued to move up and down on his thigh.

Jamie laid her hand atop his. He paused for a moment, and Jamie could see the pain reflected in his eyes before he continued his movements, his breathing in time with the motions.

"Let me," she coaxed, her smaller hand pushing his away and continuing the rubbing pattern.

"Harder," he said forcefully, and laid his hand over hers pushing down onto the thigh, she could feel it spasm under her touch. After a few minutes Jamie's arm was shaking from the effort and she hissed when her body turned slightly pulling on the injured shoulder as she overcompensated. Blue Eyes didn't seem to notice, his eyes clamped tightly shut and his hand urging her to push harder. "Use both hands," he pleaded, eyes opening and locking on to hers.

She shook her head, her arm already quivering from effort and then it buckled. He gasped and pushed her arm away as she pitched forward, instinct controlling her other arm in an attempt to stop her momentum and she cried out as her left hand landed on the quilt below her, the impact jolting up through her arm and encompassing her shoulder.

"Damn," she heard him mutter, thinking he was cursing her for being clumsy which jostled the rickety tower of emotions she'd been able to hold back. Those emotions now tumbled and crashed around her like a demolition site being blown up as the days events caught up with her. She clutched her left arm to her body and rocked backwards, not concerned that tears were streaming down her face and let herself cry. She no longer cared to keep up the stoic front, let it all be damned.

She was beyond exhausted. Her entire body was one large ache from head to toe and her shoulder was on fire with an angry intensity she could no longer ignore. There was a strange man wounded on her floor that she had rescued and they were effectively cut off from any outside help due to a blizzard and an inoperable radio. Jamie hadn't felt this helpless in an exceedingly long time. Whoever had coined the phrase, gone to hell in a hand basket had obviously shared her day.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

House looked away, embarrassed by the sudden and unexpected outburst of emotion from Jamie. If anyone should be crying, it should be him, between the band of pain encompassing his midsection and the unbearable throbbing ache in his right leg that didn't seem to be diminishing even with the Vicodin. He seemed to recall he'd been in an accident, but not much made sense beyond that.

He had no idea how to cope with women crying and would just as soon leave the room. That wasn't an option at this time he quickly discovered, trying to push himself up with his left elbow bracing him. He grunted with pain as his abdomen contracted and a stab of pain shot through his ribs. His breath hitched and he lowered himself back, exhaling out with a hiss.

House realized the woman kneeling next to him had stopped crying and was now sniffling in short bursts, sounding more like a water pipe with air in the line. She was hunched over, her head hanging down so he was unable to see much of her face, and she seemed to be holding her stomach tightly. The loose fitting, blue with snowflake-pattern, flannel pajamas she wore, hid any other features. The frayed sleeves and threadbare elbows testified to the fact they were worn often.

"Stomach?"

The woman raised her head with a questioning look. Her eyes were red rimmed and tear streaks had left jagged trails down her cheeks, but House remembered those eyes.

"You're the Park Ranger. Are we rescued?" he asked, his eyes trying to focus on the dark room around them.

"We're out of the storm," she said wiping away the tears on her face with the back of her hand.

"So where are we, why do I feel like a mummy and what's the matter with your stomach?" House ran his hand across his stomach noting the tightly wrapped cloth. "Don't think they're broken." He winced, pushing downwards onto his ribcage, and answering his own question. "Bruised is just as painful," he finished. "What about you?"

Jamie shook her head. "No, my stomach's fine. Injured my shoulder." She flinched when House grasped her left forearm, his fingers cool against her skin even with the clothing between them. Her right hand instinctively covered his.

"Relax, I'm just checking it out."

"My shoulder not my arm," she began.

He cut across her. "Funny thing is they're attached right at that angular pivot point known as an elbow."

"Your hand is cold."

"Your shoulder is dislocated. Which do you want to fix first?" He smiled a little at her hesitation. She tried unsuccessfully to pry his fingers off her forearm.

"You reached that conclusion by grabbing my arm? A doctor would need more to go by."

"Most doctors are idiots and your left shoulder is misshapen, hanging at a slightly forward angle that's barely hidden by the granny jammies. And the fact that you refuse to move it or your arm tells me it's painful."

Jamie quirked an eyebrow. "And what makes you an expert?"

"I have a boy scout badge and everything. Scootch around so you're facing me," he directed, his voice losing the playfulness and without a second thought Jamie moved slowly to bring her body perpendicular to his. He twirled his finger over his chest as if dialing a rotor phone. "A bit further." He stopped her when she sat at a diagonal to him, and moved his right hand to encompass her elbow, feeling her tremble under his touch.

"I need you to relax," he said and placed his other hand on her forearm. "Quit holding your breath."

She let her breath out and tried a reassuring smile that looked to him more like a grimace of anticipated dread. He decided to try a different tactic with her.

"You like anything besides the Eagles?" Her smile fell away quickly and her brows tried to meet at the ends above her perky nose when she frowned.

"I enjoy a wide variety of music, and what have you got against the Eagles?" she shot back; ready to defend her choice of artists. He couldn't have planned this any better and decided to continue egging her on, besides, there was a cute sparkle in her eye as she prepared to stand her ground.

"If you don't mind sleeping, I'm all for them as a cure for insomnia." She hissed as he applied pressure to her arm. House wasn't sure if it was a response to him moving her arm outward from her body, or a response to his teasing. "I suppose it could be worse, you could be humming Barbara Streisand or Barry Manilow."

"I've been known to do that on occasion," she admitted in a defiant tone, as if he'd dropped a gauntlet and she was accepting his challenge for a duel, her eyes never leaving his. House noticed her eyes were a deep shade of blue, although the lids were puffy and red-rimmed from her tears. Her lashes were long, and he wondered what she'd look like with some mascara to outline and highlight her eyes. "What?" she asked, her features softening a bit, and House realized he'd stopped moving.

"I was wondering if it's environmental or upbringing that influenced your lack of a real musical education." He continued swiveling her arm, ignoring her grimace of pain and sharp intake of breath as her left eye scrunched shut. She hurriedly looked at a spot on the far wall, and tried to control her breathing.

"New subject," she stated between clenched teeth. Her torso bent sideways trying to compensate for the sharp jab of pain that shot through her upper arm. House let go of her elbow and slid his hand underneath and to the inside of her arm, then up to the shoulder attempting to steady and add some support.

He gritted his teeth as his ribs announced their displeasure at the sudden strain. "Damn it, hold still."

"It hurts," she answered automatically, her voice shaking, and House was sure the waterworks would begin again.

"It'll stop hurting if you quit fighting, and don't start bawling," he snapped back impatiently.

"I'm not crying," her voice held no conviction as she blinked away tears and attempted to sit upright again.

"Sing something then." He began moving her arm back towards her body, releasing her shoulder again and lowering his arm, taking the pressure off his injured side.

Her voice was a lot quieter as she caught her breath. "Thought you didn't care for my taste in music."

"It'll keep your mind off the pain."

She snorted and wiped her other arm across her face, drying her tears and finished with a sniffle. "I can't think of anything." Her body flinched when he pulled back on the arm again. "You do know what you're doing, right?"

"Does watching it on the Discovery Channel count?" The corner of his mouth turned up when her head swiveled towards him, unsure if he was joking or not. "Relax. I've done a lot more than this minor procedure; even have the certificates to prove it. Now hold still."

She looked away again, finding that spot on the far wall that was interesting and begin humming softly. House couldn't quite place the tune even though he was vaguely familiar with it and knew there was a solid beat. Beat, that's what was missing - the percussions. House grinned.

"Does that tune have any words?" He slid his left hand up to her shoulder again, noting her right hand was clenched tightly on top of her thigh.

She began reciting the words, this time keeping her body straight, the inflection in the words enough to gauge her pain. "The kind you clean up with a mop and bucket." House didn't point out she'd missed the first word, love. A slow, crooked smile wavered as his ribcage stretched again and Jamie continued. "Like the lost catacombs of Egypt only God knows where we stuck it. Hieroglyphics? Let me be Pacific I wanna be down in your South Seas, but I got this notion that the motion of your ocean means small craft advisory—Ow," she cried, jerking backwards out of House's grip and cradled her arm protectively to her. Tears threatened to spill but she didn't cry, instead biting her lower lip as the pain through her shoulder subsided.

The pain wasn't completely gone, but instead of a hot poker jabbing down through the shoulder it was now a dull pain, manageable. Indy had leapt to his feet at her latest outburst and was standing; tail half-heartedly waving side to side and watching the two humans as if waiting for a cue.

Jamie lifted her left arm a few inches with the help of her right and relaxed when the pain didn't shoot through her arm. She let the arm down just as carefully. She looked over to House who was holding his arm tightly against his ribs and appeared to be laughing, albeit silently. Indy sat down next to Jamie as if he too wondered at this strange turn of events.

House waved his right hand feebly, rolling his eyes upward. "You even know the words," he said, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes closed. Jamie felt her face get warm. The reference to the Discovery Channel had inspired the impromptu choice, and it had taken her mind off of the shoulder temporarily, although now to have him laughing at her she felt rather foolish.

House grunted and his eyes popped open when Jamie adjusted his blankets, tucking them under his chin with her right arm. Unable to resist, House winked when she looked at him and aske, "Got cable? I've a sudden urge to watch X-files."


	17. Chapter 17

Mike burst through the front door of the ranger's station looking like some creature out of a nineteen seventies science fiction movie. He wore a layer of white that clung to him stubbornly as he stomped his feet and turned to close the door against the heavy snowflakes already pushing their way inside and dusting the floor in front of his boots.

Kieran shivered when the blast of cold air made its way across the room to where he sat in front of the radio and watched with a hint of amusement as his boss brushed an inch of snow off of his shoulders and front of his jacket. Pulling off his helmet, Mike once more resembled a human.

"How many folks on the roll?" Mike asked as he shed his outer jacket and hung it by the door. Kieran, having worked with Mike for the last seven years, was familiar with the straight to business attitude and had mentally kept a running total of the check-ins from the locals.

"Thirty-four locations have checked in so far, everyone accounted for, and I expect we'll have a full head count by morning, from the looks of things."

"I counted seven folks with Carl and Gloria when I was up at the lodge." Kieran didn't even bother to tick the line he'd found, instead shaking his head and commenting.

"Actually Carl radioed and said two more stragglers wandered in, didn't give any more details than that." Mike followed Kieran's gaze to the small pool of water he now stood in, the snow he'd brought in and brushed off having melted in the warmth of the office. "And Mason claims he spotted something _big_ in the woods out by his place." Kieran tapped a line further down on the clipboard with his finger. "Said by the time he got out his gun, whatever it was had already disappeared, but the dogs were acting up."

Mike was bent over trying to untie his boots, the laces of which were frozen together and looking closer to a clump of chow Mein noodles while his fingers, red and stiffened picked at the brown knots. "As much as he drinks it's unlikely he would have been able to shoot the side of his house if he was aiming at it. Probably a good thing whatever it was had disappeared. Big," Mike repeated, using Mason's description, or lack thereof. "Probably a young moose, doubt there's anything to worry about."

Mason would have been considered the town drunk, if there was anything resembling a town outside of a tiny handful of buildings scattered over a mile or so that doubled or tripled as other businesses for the sake of convenience. Most folks gathered at the lodge for an evening of drinking, if the occasion warranted it. Except for Mason, who made it a frequent habit lately of drinking his meals, especially since he'd lost his family in an avalanche a few years earlier.

Family roots grew strong in this area and neighbors were considered family, as most of the locals could trace their ancestry back to the initial generations that had first laid stakes on the wilderness, before the government had intervened and declared itself the land's keeper. And family is how the locals treated Mason, albeit as a wayward son that lived on the brink of disaster. Still, they dutifully kept an eye on him and silently hoped someday he'd get over his grief. Mike wasn't sure that would happen until Mason learned to keep the bottle closed.

Mike's mind churned with possibilities, his own explanation doing nothing to alleviate his own worries. Sure, Mason had told some tall tales in his time when under the influence, but generally they were straightforward accounts and lacked such detail as he'd added. Mike had no idea what Mason had seen, but the fact that whatever it was had upset his three sled dogs didn't set right and only added to the feeling that things were only going to get worse.

Kieran tossed the clipboard to the side of the desk and swiveled in his chair to face Mike. "Haven't heard anything from Jamie," he said. Mike stopped untying the laces and his forehead crinkled as he looked up at Kieran who slowly shook his head, signifying he knew nothing more. "Bill said he'd hike over to her place as soon as the weather cleared a bit. He says between the snow and ice she probably just lost her antenna." Kieran licked his lips. "There's something else." Mike's expression was that of a man expecting the rest of the bad news, and Kieran picked up a loose sheet of paper off the desk that had come over the fax while Mike had been out.

"This came over as you left. I couldn't catch you." Kieran's hand was shaking, causing the paper to rattle as he held it out. Mike snatched it and stood in one quick movement, forgetting the frozen laces as he hastily scanned the bulletin. Kieran could see the same conclusion on Mike's face that he'd reached upon reading its contents.

The words at the top of the white sheet in bold black letters almost seemed to leap off the page screaming for attention even though the content of the words themselves carried a much greater sense of dread. Mike felt as if he'd just been thrust into a reality version of 'Tales from the Darkside'. Wouldn't that top the Nielson ratings while advertising agencies stumbled over themselves to contribute to such a scare fest? Mike shuddered as an electrical tingle coursed down his spine and he suddenly found himself with the need to empty his bladder. Shoving the paper back at his intern, he hastily departed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Kieran waited a moment, expecting the sound of retching to reach him, and instead found himself running a hand over the piece of paper and ironing it out over his chest with an open palm. He pulled it away and read it over again.

_Wanted: Patrick Connor Williams is sought in the death of two FBI agents while being transported to face charges on multiple counts of manslaughter. Fugitive is considered armed, dangerous and very volatile. Last seen heading east from Spokane, WA and traveling in a blue and white late 80's model Chevy Blazer. Plates presumed stolen. If you have any information of Mr. Williams whereabouts, contact your local law enforcement agency or the FBI immediately. Do not attempt to approach the subject._

Kieran replayed the last transmission they'd received from Jamie over in his mind. She had been going to check on a blue and white blazer. There were lots of blazers on the roads, he tried to console himself and hoped he was correct, looking once more towards the hallway where Mike had disappeared.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

"You feeling better?"

"Better as opposed to what, having your ribs crushed, frozen like a TV dinner? Let's not even discuss the leg and a splitting headache that would make a jackhammer breaking through cement next to my ear seem quiet."

Jamie frowned as she studied his face, which in turn caused House to frown back. He didn't need to be the focus of any more scrutiny. He was tired, cold and sore in places that weren't normally sore, and the comment about the headache had been close to the truth, if one considered seeing everything blurry and doubled partial symptoms of a normal headache. "Don't think too hard. It might be painful if it's something you're not used to."

There was the indignant and resentful look he was used to from most of his coworkers and employees now visible on Jamie's face. This was familiar ground for him.

"I'll stoke the fire and add another log. I've got a couple more blankets," she said, thinking aloud as she assessed the few blankets remaining on the other half of the bed. It wouldn't be the first time she'd slept bundled in clothes. "There's also a hot water bottle someplace."

"Great, cold rubber," he muttered. Jamie bit her bottom lip, choosing to ignore the comment and added a few logs to the fire before retrieving the last of the bedding. Spreading the blankets over her guest, she took care not to use the injured arm too much, still a bit leery that the lessened pain might only be temporary, and methodically tucked the covers around him.

House tried to keep her in sight as she moved about and soon gave it up as it made him nauseous, and instead he settled for listening to the crackle and snap of the logs as the fire burned off the pitch. He was smothered under a thick layer of blankets and quilts and still felt as if he was lying outdoors with no clothing on.

He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering but found it only increased the pressure inside of his head. He began to imagine a volcano bubbling within just waiting to explode and closed his eyes hoping to lessen the sensation. He shivered, his body tensing, which only magnified the pain and he issued a groan.

Something was placed between his feet, the socks not allowing him to feel any texture, but from the heat radiating around his right ankle he assumed Jamie had succeeded in finding the hot water bottle.

Jamie stroked his head, close to the point where most of the pain seemed to radiate from, and House involuntarily flinched. Her fingers brushed over his ear.

She drew her hand back quickly as if stung. "You're cold."

"You didn't get that whole TV dinner thing? Or would a fudgesicle have been a better visual," he growled, the pain in his head from the sudden movement throbbing and making his mind spin as it clawed its way down the back of his neck. "Give me my pills."

"It hasn't been long enough."

Even through the haze of pain House was shocked. "Fuck the time and give me the damn pills," he shouted as loud as he dared, relieved when he heard a sharp intake of breath followed by the familiar rattle of a pill bottle.

House would have argued that it wasn't his conscience, but rather the relief he was anticipating that made him almost apologize, or at least apologize the only way he knew how.

"I won't overdose if that's what you're worried about," he assured her after dry swallowing two of the tablets.

"Well if you do, I'll just roll you out the door."

"You're feisty."

"And you're an ass."

"Yeah," he said, licking his lips. "I get that a lot."

There was a momentary silence and House wondered what Jamie was doing, but not curious enough to open his eyes and try to quell that interest.

"Gregory House?" Leave it to the hospital to use your legal name on a prescription bottle.

"Unless I've died and gone to heaven, and then I'm requesting a name change."

"Saint Gregory is already taken, if I'm not mistaken."

"I wouldn't make a good pope, having to wear a dress and give up my porn collection would be a sin. Whips and chains are more suited to my style."

"Caustic, abrasive and a sense of humor," Jamie mused aloud, the pill bottle set beside the makeshift bed.

"Geez, I get rescued by Wilson's twin," House muttered.

"The Dr. Wilson on the label?"

"Wonderboy Jimmy," House chattered, another fit of shivering overtaking him. He squeezed his eyes closed harder to keep the tears back, remembering the last time he'd had to cope with more pain than he was able to stand. He sensed Jamie had left his side but was more worried about the battle he was fighting to care where she'd gone this time.

It took a few minutes for him to realize there was now pressure against the right side of his body and warm puffs of breath against his shoulder. He turned his head toward the source and forced out an unintelligible mumble that resembled the word thanks. A few minutes later sleep claimed him.


	18. Chapter 18

It couldn't possibly be morning already she thought, a numbness clouding her brain and her consciousness trying to rise above the blackness engulfing her. A nagging persistence called dragging her from the land between certainty and dreams,. Something warm and solid pushed lightly against her ribcage just below her left breast, and she tensed as reality hit her like an oncoming locomotive. She was holding her breath unable to determine the source of her unease when her head rose and fell with the hard pillow below.

She let out her breath and fell limply back against the body under her as the moment of terror passed. She was safe. They were both safe, her and Greg. The man she hardly knew aside from having rescued him, and now she was stuck watching him for the rest of the evening.

House coughed again. Jamie's head bounced lightly against his shoulder, the stubble on his chin rubbing her forehead. She pushed upwards on her elbow, looking down at him and found she was somehow tangled with his arm that was wrapped around her back. That explained the feeling against her side.

"Can you turn the damn thing off?" he snapped, referring to the watch alarm beeping as quickly as her heart. "What's a guy gotta do to get some sleep around here?" he mumbled, turning his head away.

"I set it for every hour. You took a nasty bump on the head," Jamie explained, fumbling with the tiny buttons on the digital display. The watch face glowed a pale blue as a blinking nine twenty-eight registered, the annoying beeping stopped and she managed to reset it again.

"Are you a doctor?" He squinted at her in the darkened room and Jamie heard unmistakable scorn in the question.

"No, but with your type of head injury—"

House cut her off. "What type is that?"

She hesitated, suppressed a yawn and convinced herself to simply give him her assessment, then they could both go back to sleep.

"Open wound, possible concussion, and no emergency room to admit you." She was trying unsuccessfully to remove his arm from around her as she spoke, uncomfortable with his seeming lack of restraint. "I thought I'd play it safe." The last word ended abruptly as he pulled her against him.

"Your perception of safe is interesting considering you put yourself at risk to rescue me, you little daredevil." He stressed the last word, grinning slightly as he lifted his head up off the pillow to look at her, flinching with the effort.

"Your head hurts," she stated.

"Duh," he answered and relaxed his neck, settling his head back on the pillow but not releasing his hold on her.

Jamie tried to gently push him away, turned her head towards him only to find herself nuzzling his beard. She was sure he could feel her heart stutter, stop and then start again, the tempo increasing. "Would you mind moving your arm?"

"You're the one that wanted to cuddle," he said in a petulant tone. "Although I usually save that for after sex."

"We're not having sex," she returned, trying to pull away from him.

"We could."

"No, we can't," she snapped, her voice rising in frustration. It wasn't that he didn't feel good next to her, and she blamed the sudden flash of heat moving southward on the possibility of one of them having a fever, but she didn't know him and this just wasn't going to happen.

"Hmm."

Jamie waited a moment her actions suspended, watching him to insure she hadn't added to his injuries with her struggles.

"Interesting," he said, drawing out the word as if contemplating the wonders of science. Jamie was caught in his little web of intrigue.

"What?" she whispered, beginning to relax again.

"Your heartbeat increases with the pitch of your voice." He chuckled as she renewed her efforts to escape him, and as a last ditch effort she pushed her forearm against his bruised ribs. House shrieked and instantly dropped his arm, releasing her. Jamie wasn't sure if he'd yelled shit or bitch and decided either one was fine by her, and scrambled back out of his reach.

"That wasn't playing fair," he gasped, arms held protectively over his ribcage as he slowly regulated his breathing again. . Jamie bit her tongue to keep from laughing at the exaggerated hurt in his voice, even as his eyes crinkled at the edges with laughter. He was definitely going to be a handful, if his flirtations were any indication of things to come.

He didn't seem too upset by her actions so Jamie leaned close until she had his attention, and gave him a tight smile, knowing it didn't reach her eyes. "All is fair," she said evenly, not bothering to finish the age-old platitude.

Their eyes held for a moment, neither wanting to concede, and neither blinking until Jamie pulled back, knees tucked underneath her. She ran her right hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face, and then gingerly felt her left shoulder as she assessed her charge.

The blankets were bunched around his stomach, and she pulled them up over his chest, tucking them gently around his chin as he watched. She had the distinct feeling he was doing his own sizing up of her as well, and wondered just what was going through his mind. He was an enigma, his gruff exterior a well-worn layer of armor, but she'd already seen there could actually be a decent person hiding under that rough outer surface. She worked up her courage by imagining using an army issued can opener on his suit of mail armor.

"Ground rules," she began. "One, this -" she waved her hand between them, "isn't going to happen again. Two, the alarm will go off every hour so that I can be sure you're doing okay."

"For how long?" he asked in a resigned manner. He closed his eyes as if giving up on fighting alertness, which only emphasized his weariness.

"At least the next eight hours, or until I've gotten enough rest, at which time I plan on making breakfast," she finished, standing and moving to the wood stove. Indy padded quietly over, having opted to sleep on the cool tiled floor in the kitchen, and Jamie scratched him behind his ears as she stoked the fire.

"Do you always have a plan?"

Jamie looked over her shoulder; the reddened shadows from the firelight giving Greg's face a gaunt and haggard look and she readjusted her impression of his age. He looked fiftyish in this new light, although she knew he kept himself in good shape and felt her face grow warm.

"Not always," she said, closing the metal door and replacing the poker in its stand. "I like to have something to look forward to once in awhile."

House didn't respond, and Jamie walked across the room, grabbing another pillow off the bed. She'd share the mattress and blankets, but from now on, there would be separate sides she told herself. She double checked the alarm on the watch, one beep indicating the alarm was set and settled back down to catch another nap. She didn't touch him, but remained close enough that they could continue to share the body heat under the covers.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. "I was hoping you'd forget that."

"I'd rather not wake up to a stiff in the morning." Jamie knew it was the wrong wording as soon as it left her mouth, but enjoyed the sound of his chuckling.

"It'll be stiff. Just let me know if you need your temperature raised." She could feel the covers move with his silent laughter. Closing her eyes she thought, men are pigs.

Outside she could hear the wind moving through the trees, and could imagine the grey shadows that made up the night buried below a clean blanket of fresh snow. Peaceful, she slept.

+++house_md+++house_md+++

The next time the alarm went off, Jamie was in that halfway space between sleep and wakefulness. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head off the pillow and her breath caught as the muscles in the lower left side of her neck had stiffened. She silenced the alarm and brought her right hand up to rub some of the tenseness out and discovered her neck was ice cold under her fingertips.

Her hand moved down her side to pull the covers higher and realized why she had been partially awake. She was cold. Her legs were still covered but the rest of the blankets had migrated toward the other side of the bed.

She rolled on to her back and reached for the edge of the blanket next to her. It wouldn't move. She tugged harder and rewarded with a heavy sigh.

"You're hogging all the covers," she whispered fiercely.

"Yep."

That was all he said. One word as if that summed up everything and Jamie gave another short tug on the covers and released them. Looking up at the ceiling she blew out a long breath. She could still hide the body in the snow and no one would be the wiser. Jamie smiled deviously as she toyed with the idea.

Eventually she dismissed it, as she couldn't think of any positive outcomes to the preposterous scenario. She'd either get caught or have to live with the guilt. The first she could cope with, the second, nope, extra baggage was something she already had plenty of. She blew out another long breath and struggled to sit up. Pulling her elbows up to her chest, she wrapped her right arm around them and laid her cheek on the makeshift pillow.

House's chest moved up and down with regularity emphasizing the soft snores from his open mouth. She continued to watch as an internal debate raged. Part of her wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, the other part of her was reminding her that her bladder was full. The distance to the bathroom seemed like miles across the wooden floor and her toes curled at the thought of the inevitable walk.

"Hey, where are you going?" Jamie noted a hint of panic in his voice as he called to her. Serves him right she thought, warring against the maternal instinct to comfort his fears.

The room of dark shadows was familiar to Jamie as she crossed the floor and closed bathroom door behind her. She didn't bother lighting a candle or turning on the torch, this was home, and besides the temperature was cold enough for a walk-in freezer.

She emerged minutes later with her arms wrapped tightly around her body, trying hard not to shiver. She almost hesitated when she neared the temporary bed to find Greg holding up tented covers as if in invitation. He can be an okay guy, she thought. He'd have to earn nice and then stopped when she heard what sounded like a pan being filled with water. Her eyes widened and Greg brought his gaze from under the covers to look up at her.

With his free hand he pointed to the darkness below the raised covers and then to the stove looking slightly guilty as if caught smoking behind the school gymnasium.

"It was too far, and I…the pan was close, so…" He stopped and simply looked up at Jamie as if waiting. She saw the cane beside his head and knew he'd pulled the pan from next to the stove to him and used it as… She didn't want to think about it and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to scream with frustration.

Why hadn't he asked for a pitcher or, and Jamie couldn't stop the laughter bubbling to the surface. She was absolutely sure she was going crazy, because she probably would have done the same thing in his position, and he did look fairly contrite laying there watching her.

"I could use an extra hand here," he said, his forehead creasing as Jamie laughed. "Careful with that," he admonished. Her body was shaking as she retrieved the pan and carried it to bathroom. Not trusting her senses that well in the dark, she left the pan sitting in the bottom of the tub and returned.

Greg had the covers pulled up to his chin and his eyes were closed as if sleeping again. Jamie threw another log on the fire and reset her watch. If nothing else, she'd have one great tale to relate after this evening ended. She climbed under the covers once more, feeling like a popsicle.

She started, his arm was stretched out under her pillow and he turned his head towards her.

"C'mere," he said gently, wrapping his arm up and around her shoulders and pulling her closer. "You're cold." There was no denying that, and the heat from his side of the bed was too great of an invitation to pass up.

"This is not cuddling," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder. His stubbled chin brushed across her forehead.

"Right, we'll discuss the sex later." His hand slid up towards her breast.

She stiffened and heard the rumble of a chuckle in his chest. "No sex. And keep your fingers to yourself." His hand moved lower on her ribs.

"Spoilsport."

"Perv."

There was the rattle of a pill bottle and then the fire crackling and Jamie slept again.


	19. Chapter 19

First came the heat, a smothering blanket that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air and made it difficult to breathe. Then came the crackling pop of flames devouring everything in their path. Jamie tried to pull away, to will herself into action but her body refused to move. Her arms and legs felt heavy, as if turned to lead. She glanced around and found herself surrounded by flaming trees. Yellow and orange flickers warred and blended together, forming burning images of tall firs and pines in her mind, and leaving only stark, blackened husks in their wake. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch as the fire crept closer.

"No!"

Jamie bolted upright taking in a lungful of air. She looked around quickly and with a sigh of relief found that nothing burned in the dark room other than the stove. The blanket she'd been buried under dropped away and left her shivering as her sweat-damp clothing cooled quickly against her skin. She brushed back the tendrils of hair that were clinging wetly to her face and glanced over at Greg, sure she had awakened him with her yell. It took only a moment to realize that the yelling hadn't come from her reliving her summer nightmare from two years ago.

Greg moaned and writhed beside her, fighting off his own demons as heat radiated from him in waves, much like an overheating engine nearing critical. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead, shocked at the amount of moisture and heat she felt. He was burning up.

He flailed, his arm striking her forearm as he shouted again, "No!" Her arm stung where he'd struck the bone and she knew there'd be a bruise later. His eyes suddenly opened and looked past her shoulder as he shouted again.

"Greg?" she asked gently. He jerked away from her hand, throwing an arm up as if to fend something off. He was hallucinating, she thought, spurned into action by his mutterings. She had to get the fever down.

Without giving a second thought to walking barefoot across the cold floor, Jamie hurried to the kitchen. She tossed packs of frozen vegetables haphazardly onto the counter beside the refrigerator, vaguely noting that the freezer was still colder than the room – but not by much. Opening the second drawer, she fumbled for kitchen towels, grabbing a handful and not bothering to close the drawer as she rushed back to Greg's bedside.

Indy had followed Jamie into the kitchen and scrambled to get out of her way upon her exit, his feet sliding on the floor as he lost traction. He finally settled next to the door and whined once, tilting his head as if patiently waiting his turn to be tended to.

Greg was still focusing on something above him and his words tumbled out in a speedy succession he sounded as if he was mumbling. This time, though, he seemed to be arguing, almost pleading, rather than demanding. "Tell them not to take it. They can't remove it. Please help me," he repeated over and over.

His pleas were like hammer strikes to her heart, bringing back a flood of memories she'd managed to bury under years of willful neglect. Her eyes stung with hot tears as she leaned over him, hoping to draw his attention. She stroked his brow talking telling him softly, "I don't understand, Greg. Tell me what they're trying to take. Tell me who they are."

Greg seized her wrist, his eyes slowly focusing on her and whispered fiercely, "Don't let them remove it. It's my choice, my leg," he pleaded, his eyes searching hers for an answer while tears spilled over. Jamie bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying with him. What kind of an ordeal had he gone through to cause him this kind of terror? Then remembering the scar on his leg she realized with a sick feeling he'd faced amputation of his limb at one time.

She moved her hand down to his cheek, his hand still clasped around her wrist as she wiped away his tears with her thumb. Jamie shook her head gently, and whispered. "I won't let them take anything, Greg. Everything's going to be all right. It'll be all right. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here."

He released her wrist and reached up brushing his fingertips over her cheek. "I love you," he mumbled, his arm dropping to the bed and his eyes closed. Jamie turned away squeezing her own eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. She snuffled loudly and seeing the pile of towels in her lap, swiped at her face before wrapping the towel around one of the frozen vegetable bags, making a homemade ice pack.

She held the pack in her hands, hearing those three words repeated in her head, "I love you." She wanted to laugh at the irony, but instead fought back a fresh wave of tears. _You're an idiot_, she scolded herself, _letting the words of a stranger affect you like some hormonal teenager_.

Her hands shook as she wrapped the remaining frozen packages in the towels and breathed deeply in an effort to get control of her emotions. _Screw the tears_, she thought pulling the towel tighter around the pack in her hands. She began humming, pretending it would calm her, but more to block out those three little words replaying in her mind, words she knew weren't meant for her.

Berating herself for wasting precious time when House groaned, his head twisting side to side against the pillow, she moved quickly to place the ice packs against him. Trying to remain detached as she slid the packs under his clothing, her fingers brushing along heated skin, damp with perspiration, she was thankful she'd had the foresight to leave him in a pair of boxers. She resisted the urge to follow his scar with more than her eyes and settled the last few packs around his upper legs.

Once the ice packs were all in position, Jamie sat back for a moment, rubbing her hands together to warm them. She wasn't quite sure what to do next, but then the sound of Indy's gentle whine reminder her that her duties as care giver hadn't yet ended. She got up and let the patient dog out into the foyer, shutting the door swiftly behind him, shivering against the wall of frozen air that rushed past. Pulling the wooden rocker closer to the stove she retrieved a blanket and wrapped herself in it until Indy scratched letting her know he was finished. Jamie steeled herself against another blast of cold air hitting when she opened the door.

She left the door open for a few minutes, huddled behind the wood as the temperature in the room fell quickly. She cringed in the frigid air, clamping her teeth together to keep them from chattering and drew the blanket closer. Shivering as she closed the door, one last push of winter air into the room, she grabbed another blanket.

Finally, Jamie settled herself in the rocker, resetting her watch alarm and resumed watching her ward until sleep claimed her again.

The rest of the night was spent dozing and waking in the chair every hour. No matter how many ways she scooted or twisted in the rocker, she couldn't seem to settle in comfortably. Greg appeared semi-coherent the next few times she checked on him, and was able to state his name and offer some biting remark before she was satisfied his condition was improving. If the remarks were anything to go by, she figured he'd be up and about by mid-afternoon.

At six in the morning, rather than waking Greg and opening herself to his sarcasm, she carefully removed the homemade ice packs, which even in the cool room had turned soft. Working swiftly, she stole furtive glances at his face hoping he didn't open his eyes and covered him with the remaining blankets. Stoking the stove while swallowing several yawns was the last she was able to manage before claiming the other side of the bed and closing her eyes.

+++ house md+++house md+++

Mike set a fresh cup of coffee beside Kieran's clipboard and ran his finger down the listings.

"Who are we missing?" he asked.

Kieran pulled the headphones off, reaching for the coffee. "Jamie's the only one I haven't been able to contact yet. Everyone else has been accounted for at least once between last night and this morning. Just finished with the last of the check-ins this morning."

Mike stood at the window, his back to Kieran, the world outside a solid white tinged with grey. Somewhere above the falling snow the sun was shining, but looking through the icy panes, only mounds of virgin snow were visible. The snowmobile was just another unrecognizable lump except for the tip of the plastic faring sticking out. If the snow continued falling at this pace, ten feet was going to be mild estimate, and digging out could take days.

"Mike? You might want to take this," Kieran called.

Mike whirled around. "What have you got?"

Kieran shook his head indicating it wasn't in reference to Jamie and turned back toward the receiver before he registered the disappointment on Mike's face.

"You remember Mason's sighting last night?"

"He's off his rocker." Mike's voice held more contempt than dejection as he moved across the room.

"Maybe he's not. I think you need to hear this." Kieran flipped a series of switches and spoke into the microphone. "Go ahead Robby."

Mike set his coffee down, braced one hand on the back of Kieran's chair and leaned forward. Kieran turned up the receiver and unplugged his headphones, and suddenly the room was filled with static from the speaker.

Mike leaned further over, bringing his face closer to the microphone. "Robby, this is Mike at ranger base, over."

"I'm reading you clear, Mike, over," Robby's voice came interspersed with staccato-like static.

"You reported a wild animal sighting this morning. Can you confirm that? Over," Mike asked while looking at the large map tacked on the wall above the radio.

"It wasn't any house cat that's for sure." With all the static, Robby's "sure" came across more like the word "shore", and there was a slight pause. "I may have nicked it, not for certain though, over."

Mike frowned at the radio. "You shot it?"

"Shot at it from the barn, what'd you expect me to do? I wasn't letting that thing anywhere near my Lucy, over," came the response.

Mike was nodding, even though Robby couldn't see him. He understood that the locals were protective about their own livestock, pigs included.

"Gotcha, Robby, I'm just not happy hearing about a wild animal, now possibly injured, roaming this close to folks." Mike had his finger now tracing over the map from Mason's place to the Nickel's, and just across the next hill in the same path if you continued northward was the familiar ranger symbol. Jamie's residence. "If you see it again, call immediately, otherwise continue with the regular check-ins, over."

"Will do, Mike, over and out." The speakers hissed and Kieran shoved the headphone plug back in, silencing the static. Mike rubbed a hand over his face, scratching at the unfamiliar stubble on his chin. There was nothing he would be able to do if Robby spotted the animal again, except be aware of its location.

"Problem?" Kieran asked.

Mike stood back, hands on his hips, studying the map as if it might give him answers. "Yeah, big problem," he finally admitted. Then spoke his fears out loud. "We have a possibly injured cougar roaming who knows where, which means it's a possible ticking time bomb." He took a highlighter to the map and drew a large circle around the two houses that had been the animal's sightings. "I want everyone in this area notified, I don't want any one surprised or unprepared." He turned away from the wall and moved back towards the window.

Kieran opened his mouth to say something, clearly thought better of it and instead turned his concentration to the map, making quick checkmarks next to the names of the individuals within the yellow ring. He hesitated next to Jamie's name before reluctantly checking it also, then began making his calls.

Behind him, Mike paced.

+++house md+++house md+++

"I'm dying," Blue Eyes stated in the early afternoon. Jamie wasn't sure who'd had the roughest morning between the two of them. Greg who'd been running a fever on and off, interspersed with the chills, sweats and bouts of whining, or Jamie who'd kept busy trying to keep him comfortable and fend off most of his verbal insults.

"You're not dying, yet." Jamie added the qualifier while suppressing an eye roll. She sat in front of the radio receiver attempting for the umpteenth time to pick up a signal. Any signal other than the steady stream of static that never ceased. Head cocked towards the speaker, she prayed to hear any indication of life outside of the cabin.

"Well, thanks for eliminating that event from my busy calendar," Greg said, his sarcasm thick. "Now I don't have anything to worry about." Jamie looked over her shoulder as he picked at the edges of the blanket. His fingers closed over roughened threads that had twisted and knotted with age and he seemed to take some kind of delight in pulling the worn bits of material off, rubbing them into tiny balls and throwing them on the floor.

"Isn't there anything else to listen too? I'm tired of hearing that."

"Which? The fact that you're not dying? Or the continuous stream of static?" She turned the volume down to a barely audible hiss, then clicked it off. Her fingers lingered on the dial and she blew out a long breath, the tension in her shoulders not subsiding with the absence of the static.

"If this were a hospital I'd be receiving non-stop attention. They care about their patients," he challenged, but without making eye contact.

Jamie's mouth dropped open. Of all the nerve, after she'd spent the last twenty hours playing nursemaid. "Are you feeling neglected? I'm sure if I scrounged around I could find a needle or two to poke you with."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a sponge bath," he said, continuing his assault on the blanket. He turned, looking straight at her with a little quirk of his lip.

Jamie's eyebrows rose in disbelief. He couldn't be that sick if he was he flirting. She shook her head and walked the few steps to the kitchen. "See? You're not dying if you're thinking about sex again."

"Well, if you insist on sex after the sponge bath, I'm not opposed to it."

She kept her back to him so he wasn't able to see the flush on her face, a mixture of exasperation and a warm squishy feeling in her stomach when she actually entertained the idea of giving him a sponge bath. Pushing the kitchen utensils around in a drawer as a distraction she threw back, "And here I thought doctor's made the worst patients."

"Only because we run out of patience, and by patience I don't mean patients--" Greg's attention was diverted to Indy pacing and growling in front of the door. "What's wrong with the dog?"

Indy growled low, a clear warning. His pacing became slow and deliberate as a hunter stalking prey. His hackles rose giving him a bear-like appearance and alerting his human companions that danger lurked nearby. He pressed his nose to the base of the door, snuffling loudly. Indy's growls turned to menacing barks as he chased back and forth, acting as if he would chew through the door.

Jamie started towards the door, holding her hands out to the frantic dog. "What is it? What is it, boy?"

Indy was snarling and snapping, teeth clanking together and scraping against the wood leaving grooved indentations in the door. House reached for his cane. Jamie reached for the door knob.

"Don't." House's sharp command halted her and she closed her fist around air, pulling her arm back. There was a shrieking scream, loud and off key, but as high as any opera singer would have tried without breaking glass. Indy knocked against Jamie, intent only on getting to whatever was on the other side of the closed door.

Jamie stumbled back a couple of steps, her actions more like those of a stunned passerby caught unaware at the scene of an accident. Her arms broke out in goose bumps, a shiver ran down her back and her mouth went dry.

"Call him off." Jamie looked at House not comprehending his words until he thrust a finger towards the manic dog and repeated his command. "Call him off."

Jamie called to Indy, relieved that even though her hands were shaking, her voice remained steady.

Indy dropped to all fours, his eyes trained on the door and his body quivering, nostrils flaring. The scream sounded again, much further away and Jamie repeated the command when Indy started to rise. She closed the distance between them, her breath nearly as harsh and ragged as his.

Jamie squatted, bending next to Indy and spoke to him in a calm voice. Her eyes flickered to the gap under the door, checking for shadows, desperately wanting to be certain there was nothing there.

The air was split with one last scream, this one even fainter, and Indy crawled forward, pressed his nose to the door, and whined. Jamie laid a hand on his neck and patted him in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

"What the hell was that?" House asked hoarsely, causing Jamie to glance over her shoulder. Despite being bed-ridden, he was clutching his cane across his chest, poised as if ready to ward off the intruder. His eyes were glued to the door looking as if he expected to fend off the abominable snowman when and if he came crashing through.

Jamie suppressed a nervous giggle at the sight and turned away. Curling her fingers under Indy's collar, she urged him back from the door, reassuring him. "Probably a cat," she said aloud, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, and directed more whispers of assurance to Indy.

"Not your garden variety house cat," House offered, grimacing as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Indy craned his neck back, his long pink tongue snaked out as he tried licking Jamie's chin, all the while she continued distracting him in the hopes the creature had left. "No, much larger. A bobcat more than likely, mountain lion if you're looking for a long shot." She scratched Indy's ears, tussling with the German shepherd, and frowned. "I've never heard either of them in the wild, so I really couldn't be confident in saying what that was."

"Well if you feel like asking, take your gun." House was panting with the effort of holding himself upright, warily watching the door.

"Whatever it was, it's gone now," Jamie said, standing and facing Greg. She avoided his eyes and crossed her arms across her chest. "And I don't have a gun."

"You live in the middle of the wilderness and have no weapon? Even Grizzly Adams carried a gun, or are you just a glorified girl scout that can start a fire with matches?" House's eyes narrowed and Jamie bit her bottom lip to keep from responding. She was still shaken from the unexpected visit and was trying to hold her emotions in check, unsure if she was close to reaching her breaking point or not. She breathed in deeply, held it, then slowly breathed out, turning back towards the kitchen. No reason to give him any more fuel, she thought.

But Greg wasn't finished. "You live in the woods with wild animals and you don't have any means to protect yourself?"

"Most of the time, if you leave them alone they'll leave you alone."

"And you've tested that theory?"

"I don't have to test it, it's common knowledge. I've had plenty of run-ins with the local wildlife over the years." Metal pots banged together and clattered on the countertop as Jamie dried and put away the few dishes. She did this more to distract herself and keep her temper in check. Wasn't it written somewhere that in a crisis the male was supposed to be the reassuring pillar of strength? Not obnoxious and cynical?

"Yeah," he sounded unconvinced, "that explains all the tourist maulings. Just one big PR stunt designed to increase revenues." He expelled a long breath as he lay back again.

"Didn't you ever go camping as a kid? Sit around the campfire and tell ghost stories?" With her back to him, she didn't see him wince, or the look of sadness that passed over his features. "The most common reason animals attack humans is because people are stupid, either leaving out food that attracts them, or thinking they're tame and wanting to get close," she defended.

"Exploring pyramids, hiking the Great Wall, kicking at dirt in the Roman Colosseum, and picking cherry blossoms under Mt Fuji was the extent of my camping," he said with a bitterness that almost made her turn.

She heard him swear under his breath and then came the now familiar rattle of his pill bottle. Eyeing the radio wistfully, from the corner of her eye, she determined to check on the antenna tomorrow, with or without a break in the snow.

Setting the last of the dishes in the cupboard Jamie was able to put a finger on her unease. The normal humming of the refrigerator had ceased. The last bit of comfort and contact with the real word had been stolen. The power was out. She glanced at her ward who appeared to be dozing again, folded the kitchen towel and laid it next to the sink, and decided not to say anything to him. Maybe the world would look brighter after a nap.

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

Jamie was sure if she closed her eyes, sleep would come. Her mind felt sluggish from the lack of anything other than short catnaps since the day before, and the adrenaline rush had expended any reserves of energy. She sank gratefully onto the mattress, pulling a lone blanket over her, and curled into the fetal position ready to welcome slumber.

She opened her eyes, shifted a little as if trying to burrow further into the mattress and expelled a long breath. Out, two, three, four, five, inhale, count to five and hold for the same, then slowly repeat the process. It was an old trick she'd learned when coping with stressful situations, helping to clear and still the mind by concentrating on breathing and counting, slowly slipping into restful sleep.

She awoke with a jerky start and felt her heart hammering in her chest at the sudden interruption. There was another loud, throaty snore behind her, and Jamie groaned at the unfairness of life. Rolling onto her back, she lifted her head to peer over the side of the bed and sighed as Greg sucked another lungful of air into his open mouth, sounding like an old muffler full of holes.

"Hey," she called sharply, hoping to wake him enough to cease the snoring, but he continued on unabated. Jamie flopped onto her back, scooted closer to the edge of the mattress and stuck out a foot, wiggling her sock covered toes against the side of his head. It appeared to have worked as he snorted once and turned away from the touch, smacking his lips together as his tongue licked at dry lips.

She let her foot dangle over the side of the bed, too tired and lazy to bother pulling it back just yet, and slowly succumbed to the heavy limbed blackness of sleep. The silence didn't last long as another loud snore rudely awakened her. Reflexively, her foot swung outward, catching Blue Eyes on the head as her eyes popped open.

Loud cursing alerted her that his sleep had been interrupted and she smiled in smug satisfaction. The smile turned into a surprised yelp when something tugged hard on her leg and Jamie was pulled out of the bed and landed on the floor with a thud. Her teeth clicked together as her bottom fell hard onto the unforgiving wood floor, tears springing to her eyes. Greg refused to let go of her ankle as she kicked outward, this time with the intent to inflict bodily damage. He gave her leg another tug, lifting her foot towards the ceiling and dragging her further away from the bed.

Jamie twisted away from him and onto her left shoulder, all the fight dissipating when the sudden pressure and movement sent a flash of pain outward from the tender joint. She inhaled sharply, bit her lower lip and rolled onto her back grabbing her left elbow with her right hand and held it tightly to her chest.

Greg still had his hand around her ankle, his grip loose and he was propped on his elbow, peering between her knees at her. His face furrowed with a frown, lips pressed together in a pout and Jamie wondered if he was going to apologize. After a few seconds of him staring at her and not saying a word, he tugged gently on her ankle.

"What?" she asked harshly, putting her anger into her voice instead of resorting to kicking him.

"C'mere and let me check that for you." He gave her ankle another tug, pulling her leg closer to him and not relinquishing it. She jerked her leg back without much conviction and he held it in place firmly. "Quit being a baby and let me take a look at your shoulder. Make sure you didn't do anymore damage to it with your WWF wrestling moves."

"It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't pulled me onto the floor," she told him, wiggling backwards in an effort to escape.

"That's ripe. You kicked me in the head, and I don't subscribe to the turn the other cheek philosophy, if you catch my drift. I'm speaking metaphorically here."

Jamie rolled her eyes knowing exactly which part of his anatomy he was referring too as the other cheek. "Does everything have to be a sexual reference with you?" Seeing the beginnings of a smirk she quickly added, "And you snore loud enough to wake the dead."

"That's why you look like shit. You're a zombie."

With a loud growl, Jamie thrust her foot forward in a feint and quickly pulled her leg out of his grasp. "You're an ass," she said, rolling to her right and pushing herself into a sitting position.

Greg lay back with a sigh and winced as he rubbed at his sore ribs. "Nice to know your impression of me hasn't changed any." Jamie shook her head, resting her right elbow on her knee as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Differential for dark circles under the eyes, crankiness and continual yawning?" he asked, patting the top of the mattress next to him, the covers having been thrown back.

"What are you doing?" she asked, unable to stifle a yawn and covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Fatigue," he said, reaching for his pill bottle and continuing his assessment. "Caused by stress, anxiety, lack of adequate rest and thinking you're superwoman, although personally I prefer the Wonder Woman costume." He dropped two pills into his hand and held them out to her. "Doctor's orders: take two, lie down and sleep." Dropping the amber bottle on the floor, he waved his empty hand at the rest of the room. "Everything else can wait, not that there is anything else to do."

Jamie accepted the two white pills and dry-swallowed in imitation of him. "Blech." She stuck out her tongue, scrunched her face, and shook her head as if trying to shake something out of her hair. Greg just grinned.

"Takes a little getting used to," he said, patting the makeshift bed again.

"No," she objected, using her right arm to leverage herself up to her knees and nodded towards the bed. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah," he threw back sarcastically, "I can see where that's done a world of good for you so far. C'mere, I'm not going to bite and you really should let me look at the shoulder again."

Jamie hesitated a moment blinking owlishly down at Greg who lay watching her passively. Her best resting time had been the few hours curled next to him, before he'd woken her with his fever she thought. He had provided a sense of security which had been missing from her life for more than a few years now, but he was still a stranger. Someone she knew very little about, and she wasn't sure if circumstances hadn't thrown them together that they would have ever spoken at all.

A slight tug on Jamie's hand brought her back from her thoughts and she let him pull her towards the mattress. "I really should check your ankle," she said, and let her gaze travel with his to the higher lump under the covers that wiggled.

"It appears intact," he stated confidently, wiggling the toes a little longer for her benefit. "See? Still have motion in the extremities and blood flow; I'll just have to wait on the salsa lessons." He placed a finger against her lips as Jamie began to protest. "Worry about yourself, I'm not going anywhere," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close to him despite her tensing. "Would you relax? No wonder you can't sleep," he said, quickly throwing the covers over her.

"Look," he said in quieter tones. "Would it help if I told you a bedtime story?"

Jamie's eyes widened. "You're going to tell me a bedtime story?"

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't know," she said hesitantly, "You don't really seem the type to tell children's stories." Jamie's cheek was now resting against his shoulder despite the fact she'd pushed a pillow next to his head. Greg had an arm around her shoulders and seemed content for her to use him as a human pillow. She wrinkled her nose a bit and he chuckled causing her head to bounce lightly. He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her head so he could look at her. She could get lost in those blue eyes, when they weren't trying to bore a hole through her soul.

"Neither of us smell like roses at the moment, and I didn't say anything about a children's story," he admitted, tightening his hold as Jamie tried to wriggle away. "Relax," he assured her, "the sleep will do us both some good." He released his hold on her chin and dropped his head back as if gathering his own thoughts.

Jamie decided there probably wasn't much harm in just lying here and listening for a few minutes. After all, he was more likely to fall asleep before she would, and as he'd pointed out there really wasn't anything else to do. She couldn't help chortling when he began his story.

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived an evil stepmother and her three ducklings. Across the valley lived a fairy godfather who was overseer of the wee little bald folk." House raised his head at Jamie's chortles and frowned. "What?"

"You're making this up," she said, poking at him in his good ribs with a finger and smiling. He made a grab for her finger and settled for tapping the end of her nose.

"Am not, now be quiet and let me get on with the story," he told her and settled back once more. "Now, where was I?"

"Wee little bald folk," she reminded him in a decent imitation of a Scottish accent.

As he continued with his story, his voice lulling her into a drowsy haze, Jamie couldn't help but think about the ogre Shrek and his description to Donkey of what an ogre really was. An onion, consisting of many layers, and Jamie, not realizing her eyelids were growing heavy, likened Greg to the same description. Her eyes closed and her breathing evened out and she dreamt of ogres and onions and fairy godfathers.

Blue Eyes hadn't even gotten to the good part of his story when he heard her breathing deepen. He smiled, pulling the covers up higher and let his own eyes close with a small smile and two words: "The end."

+++house_md+++house_md+++

Cuddy looked up from the papers she'd been shuffling, none of them making any sense but fulfilling the obligatory need to do something, and waved Wilson in. From his appearance she surmised he hadn't heard anything more from House over the weekend either.

"Hey," he said lightly, adjusting his tie and nearly dropping onto the sofa.

"Morning," Cuddy replied and asked the inevitable. "No word from House?" Wilson shook his head and continued playing with the end of his tie.

"I don't get it," he said at last, spreading his hands as if questioning the room and sat forward. "No phone calls, nothing."

"Are you surprised?"

He blinked and looked at Cuddy like the thought of House not checking in was preposterous and at last shook his head in dismay. "I don't know." He leaned forward and rearranged the magazines on the coffee table while he gathered his thoughts. "I guess I expected to hear something from him," he said, admitting his concern. "I'm worried."

Cuddy nodded and pulled a paper from under the stack of folders on her desk and handed it to Wilson. "He left the hotel last Sunday morning, before checkout, and sent his luggage back."

"But," Wilson started, and could only stare at Cuddy uncomprehending as his mind raced. Where had House gone, and why had he sent his luggage back? Didn't he need his clothes? An entire week had now passed and they hadn't heard from him. His team was still working in various other departments keeping occupied, but Wilson knew from the questions they asked, they too were becoming concerned with their boss's total absence.

"I take it from your reaction you have no clue as to his whereabouts?" Cuddy asked, her voice unable to hide the tiredness she felt. Wilson shook his head, eyebrows scrunching together and a hand sliding over the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign he was upset. Cuddy let out a sigh. "Would you mind contacting House's parents in the off chance they've heard from him?"

Wilson nodded and licked his lips looking suddenly guilty. "I already called them. Over the weekend," he hastened to add. "They haven't heard from him either." He blew out a long breath as if having confessed had lifted a heavy load off of his shoulders. "Do you think we should call in a missing person?"

Cuddy tapped the end of a pencil against her desk, weighing her options. On one hand, she'd given him three weeks off and told him to get lost, but she hadn't expected him to take her so literally. She wasn't sure anyone else would consider it a weighty concern at this point until after the three weeks had expired. Cuddy explained her reasoning to Wilson, and felt even worse as she watched his shoulders slump and look as if she'd just stolen his bike and kicked his puppy. She'd strangle House herself for making his friend suffer, if she thought it would do any good.

"Keep me posted, Wilson," Cuddy began, knowing she was affectively giving him the boot, but she had no other means to console him. He knew as much as she did, after all. "He's all grown up now; he can take care of himself."

Wilson nodded and exited her office without another word. Cuddy wanted to assure him everything would be all right, but couldn't convince herself of that, let alone Wilson. As soon as Wilson had disappeared, Cuddy pulled out her cell and dialed House's mobile number. She listened for a moment before closing her phone. His caller ID would notify him of the missed call.

Cuddy went back to shuffling her papers.

tbc


	21. Chapter 21

Jamie snuffled, burrowing her head further into the pillow until a muffled _oomph_ sounded. The pillow twitched under her cheek startling her awake.

"Sorry," she mumbled, remembering she'd fallen asleep on Blue Eye's chest, and pushed back from the warmth and comfort offered by his body. His arm that was wrapped around her back kept her from moving more than a few inches as he looked down at his chest and swiped at a small wet patch.

"I'm not the only one that snores," he said, cocking his head to get a better look at her. Jamie tried to turn and roll away but he was too strong for her and brought her back against his side. "What's the rush?" he asked, sounding sincere. "That's best sleep I've had in months." Jamie smiled contentedly and began to relax again. "And from the sounds you were making, it was good for you too, even with the bath," he added with a mischievous wink.

She sat up with an exasperated groan. Tossing the covers back she wrapped her arms around herself as the chilled air hit her. "Damn it." She rose shakily to her feet, still slightly disoriented from sleep and clamped her teeth together as her feet touched the icy floor. She'd let the stove go out, and that's where her thought processes stopped as she found herself staring down at a pair of boxers sporting an impressive bulge. After a brief pause, sense returned. Averting her eyes, she bent to throw the covers back over him and busied herself with rebuilding the fire in the stove.

Greg chuckled at her embarrassment. "Didn't believe me when I said I'd slept well?"

Jamie shook her head and continued laying small sticks over the charred embers left in the stove and coaxed the fire back to life. "A demonstration wasn't necessary."

"You pulled the covers off of me; maybe you're not as innocent as you'd like me to believe?" Keeping her back to him, she continued feeding the flame and added a larger piece of wood. Greg sighed, raising his arms and interlocking his fingers to rest behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. "Fine, blame my gender and centuries of biological programming. Still," he mused aloud, "it was nice having you lay beside me."

Jamie laid a couple more pieces of wood on the fire and left the door half-open to allow more air to circulate between the wood for faster burning. She couldn't help smiling at his latest declaration. She brushed her hands off and turned slowly to face him, trying to get her thoughts in order. Aside from Mike, she couldn't remember being the focus of anyone's attentions in a long while. On one hand it was flattering, but on the other, where reality seemed to be adding extra weight to the argument, being the object of a stranger's attention was a little scary.

"I'm not used to—" she flapped a hand as if warding off flies while trying to find the right word and, when one didn't present itself, finished awkwardly with, "this."

"This?" Greg asked in an amused tone, one side of his lip curling upwards.

"You don't even know me," she blurted out while stepping past him, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. "I don't know anything about you. Who you are, where you come from, what you like, dislike." She paused in the middle of her wild arm waving rant and placed her hands on her hips. "I take that back, you don't like the Eagles," she said sounding defeated and faced him again.

Watching confusion, frustration and a mingling of curiosity play across her features, Blue Eyes grinned. His eyes took all of her in from her bare feet to her tousled hair before his gaze shifted back to the ceiling. "I don't remember saying I didn't like the Eagles, I'd just prefer listening to something else." Jamie opened her mouth to respond, then closed both her mouth and eyes as she wrapped her arms around her midsection, turning back towards the kitchen.

"I must be getting cabin fever; usually I'm not this irritable in the morning," she admitted, beginning to pull out a few items from the kitchen cupboards.

"The frumpy look fits with your mood," he replied, shifting uneasily under her sudden glare. "By frumpy I meant cute," he added hastily, offering an apologetic grin. Jamie ran a hand through her hair.

"Cute," she repeated, as if testing the word, letting it roll around in her mouth as her face scrunched. "Kittens and puppies are cute," she shot back. Greg nodded in agreement.

"Polar Bears too. And you, when you get all flustered."

Jamie stared at him for a moment. "I'm hungry," she announced and shoved a pan under the faucet.

"No wonder people ignore the do not feed the animals signs, wild animals aren't nearly so warm and fuzzy when they first wake up." Blue Eyes began humming Elvis Presley's Teddy Bear, exchanging his own version of the words. "Oh won't you be my, Teddy Bear."

Jamie felt her face flush and let the pan drop onto the counter not caring that water slopped over the sides. "Are you flirting with me?" she asked, stretching out the word flirting. Their gazes locked for a few long moments, and she was sure he could read everything she was thinking.

He shrugged and resumed his inspection of the ceiling. "You interest me," he said at last, not bothering to see her reaction.

Jamie stood dumbfounded. Interesting? Where had that come from? She watched him a little longer before picking up where she'd left off in the kitchen.

**+++house_md+++house_md+++**

An hour later, Greg was sitting propped up against the bed frame with several pillows supporting him and watching Jamie carry buckets full of warm water into the bathroom. Upon his comment that she was wasting her time, there was no way the water would ever stay warm enough, she'd flipped him off with a single digit raised in annoyance and seemed even more resolute about her actions. With nothing better to do he simply leaned back and enjoyed the view while she marched back and forth between the stove and the bathroom.

Satisfied with the amount of water she'd hauled into the bathroom, she finished up by pouring the contents of the pan that had been simmering into a large porcelain bowl and handed it to Blue Eyes.

"What the hell is this?" Blue Eyes asked while dipping the spoon into the thick mound of grayish sludge mostly hidden under milk that was quickly turning the same off color. He pulled the spoon out with a satisfying slurp that halted Jamie in her return trek to the kitchen. She whirled, cheeks flushed and indignation radiating from her, and stared slack-jawed as Greg upended his spoon, watching intently as the gray goop splashed back into the bowl.

"Oatmeal," she said with more than a touch of anger. "If you don't want it, set it aside and I'm sure Indy will clean the bowl for you." Her last words were cut off by the slam of a door and Greg looked over in surprise. Jamie had disappeared from the room.

He stared at the closed door as if waiting for it to reopen, and instead heard faint humming followed by the splash of water, and resumed his inspection of the bowl's contents. Glancing across the way to where Indy patiently watched him, he brought the hot cereal close enough to take a quick sniff and tentatively ate a spoonful of oatmeal. Then another. And another. He broke the rhythm of spoon-to-mouth just long enough to address Indy. "Sorry, Rover, maple and brown sugar like Oma used to make," he said, licking his lips in a satisfied manner and then savored each bite like a kid enjoying an ice cream sundae. He scraped the bowl clean, turning the spoon over in his mouth with the last bite as he ran his tongue along the curve to catch the last remnants. He let out a satisfied belch.

Jamie lowered herself into the tub as best as she could with one arm, awkwardly falling sideways in an attempt to protect her shoulder, and ended up sitting down hard as water splashed over the side. Nothing to do about it now, she thought sliding her body the rest of the way into the warmth and laying back with a sigh. The water buoyed not only her body, allowing sore muscles to relax, but her spirit as well. Alone in her own little world for the first time in days, she changed the tune she'd been humming to a lullaby.

The tub was a creation she had designed, and with Mike's help had built and improved on her initial plan. They had taken a clawfoot tub and encased it in multiple layers of material designed to hold heat in and built a wooden case around that. They'd also added a cover that allowed only one third of the water to be exposed and used thermal tiles on the underside to reflect the heat back into the water. It still cooled faster than a normal tub, but allowed a person to soak for a good twenty minutes or so before cooling too much.

The scent of lavender filled the small room, transporting her to a sunny meadow where she lay on the grass soaking up the sun's rays and enjoying a soft rustling breeze, far away from cold and snow. She dozed lightly, hands drifting back and forth in the water, moving as languidly as the tune she created.

"Ni-ice," a voice drawled above her. Jamie opened her eyes in fright. Greg was the last person she'd imagined she'd find standing over her, and the shock of him interrupting her peaceful moment turned from surprise to anger in the span of a heartbeat. She sank lower into the tub in an instinctive move to hide her nakedness, but sucked in a breath at the wrong moment.

She sat up suddenly, arms waving as she spluttered and coughed, trying to rid her lungs of water, cover herself, and shout at him all at the same time. Greg hobbled a prudent step backwards to keep out of arms reach, his figure a silhouette in the light from the doorway. The two candles nearest the tub flickered in the stirring air around them, another snuffing out with a sizzle as water doused the flame.

Now Greg was next to the tub, slapping her upper back with the flat of his hand as she struggled for air. "Breathe out hard," he ordered, placing his other hand on her damp, exposed left arm to help steady her. Her hands gripped the edges of the tub as she struggled to regain her breath, aware that she was shaking from a combination of anger, fright, and cold air coming in from the other room.

"Wha-" she managed to squawk, her throat constricting on the word. Twisting away from him, she immediately covered her chest with her arms and glared at him in the semi-darkness. His hands were raised in mock surrender and he tilted his head towards the toilet.

"I needed the facilities," he offered lamely and sat down heavily on the lid with a groan, keeping his eyes averted.

"You couldn't have waited?" Her voice came out as a harsh whisper, aware the room was brighter since he no longer blocked the doorway. She tightened her arms and pulled her knees closer to her chest as the room seemed to shrink inwardly and her private sunny meadow refuge instead became a claustrophobic closet.

He covered his ribs with his right arm and shot a quick glance towards her. "Look, could we dispense with the whole glaring thing?"

"I glare when I'm not happy."

Greg nodded as if that explained everything. "You looked rather—" He cleared his throat at her darkening features and changed the subject with a nod of his head towards the tub. "Nice setup, which would explain why the water stays warm. Your design?" He made it sound like a compliment and she relaxed a little, nodding her head once while still regarding him with wary eyes. He licked his lips seeming at a sudden loss, and let his eyes flick towards her again. "I don't suppose it would be warm enough for another bath?" he asked hesitantly.

Jamie's gaze dropped to his ankle and the thick wrapping covering it. "We'll need to rewrap your ankle," she said at last and held out an open hand. "Hand me a towel."

Greg lifted the oversized towel off the counter and handed it to her wordlessly. With a quick motion of her hands he offered a slight smile and obligingly turned his head away. "I didn't mean to startle you," he began in way of apology as she stood and hurriedly wrapped the towel around herself, shivering more as the air quickly cooled the water on her body. "You seemed to be gone an awfully long time, and I was—" Her mind filled in the blank with concerned or worried and her anger began to soften. But then he finished his statement. "—curious." She threw a handful of water at him that made him flinch.

"Nice to know you care," she said, the sarcasm in her voice covering the slight hurt from his statement.

She was aware he was trying to catch another glimpse of her from the corner of his eye and despite her still flaring anger with him, felt flattered by his attentions. Then again, she still didn't know him from Adam and he could just as easily be the next Jack the Ripper, or Ted Bundy. Jamie studied him as she stepped out of the tub; he suddenly seemed as awkward as a young kid, his brashness and bravado gone, replaced by a shy nervousness. One hand played with the bottom hem of his boxers and his eyes were unable to meet hers.

Jamie laid a hand on his shoulder and was surprised when he jerked a little under her touch. His skin was warm and soft in contrast to the muscle that played under the surface. "I'll unwrap the ankle and then you can have the tub," she said, bending down to lift his foot onto her thigh.

Even in the low lighting, she could see the ugly purple swelling that gave his ankle an eerie overstuffed look, like a sausage straining against its wrap. She stood and helped him to his feet, his arms draped over her shoulders, the weight on her injured side minimal. This close to him, and facing him, she could feel the heat radiating between them while she peeled back the dressing around his ribs leaving him standing in his boxers. Jamie stepped back, breathing in cool, fresh air in an attempt to disperse the clouds in her mind, then quickly placed a hand over his, halting any further motion when his thumb hooked into the band of his boxers.

She knew she wasn't ready for this. Wasn't even sure of his intentions or what her own actions would be and then he was kissing her. The boxers forgotten. She held onto his waist with both hands splayed as if that would ground her. One of his hands was firmly pressed against the back of her neck and the other rubbed upward on her forearm, but it was his lips that held her spellbound. Tender and demanding as his lips moved against hers, exploring and flicking his tongue against her lips, sending electrical currents that short-circuited her thoughts.

As quickly as he'd begun he stopped. She was aware of him moving to her right side, his arm sliding around her neck and over her shoulder. For a brief moment she knew how the cartoon character Wiley Coyote, forever chasing Road Runner, felt when he found himself standing in empty air above a chasm and realized there was nothing to stop the inevitable fall.

"Going to help me in?" he asked with a hint of laughter in his voice, tugging her closer and lifting his bad leg over the edge of the tub. A hard internal struggle ensued as Jamie assisted him into the tub, all the while fighting the urge to drown the blue-eyed egomaniac who seemed to enjoy playing with her emotions.

She left him soaking in the tub while she retrieved clean boxers, sweats and a faded Grateful Dead t-shirt from his duffel bag along with a large bath towel, all of which she placed on the toilet lid for easy access. The kitchen chair he'd used as a crutch, she set inside the bathroom and closed the door half-way upon her exit, all the while aware he was silently following her every movement with his eyes.

She was still trying to come to grips with the kiss. Had he meant it or was he only toying with her? Answers escaped her, so instead she went about in a no-nonsense, just get it done fashion, afraid to confront her own feelings.

He'd gotten himself to the bathroom, whether by sheer determination or wily cunning, so Jamie figured he could just as easily get himself out of the tub, when the water turned cold, or he turned into a prune, so she bundled up for a trek outside. First order of business would be to fill the wood box, as the supply inside was quickly dwindling, the second was to start the generator and then see if she could raise Mike or Kieran on the radio. She knew they'd be worried about her and she was desperate for a weather update. She was sick of being cooped up inside with no idea how much longer the storm would last.

Greg called out as she stuffed a foot into one of her boots, feeling like the Pillsbury dough boy in her heavy winter gear. "I'm going out for a bit," she said, sticking her head inside the bathroom, somewhat relieved to find him still immersed in the tub. His eyes widened at the sight of her in a coat.

"Where?" He sat up, his face crumpling as if she had just announced she was deserting him.

Jamie couldn't help her eyes dropping to take in his broad, muscled chest, rivulets of water running through a light dusting of chest hair. He was pure male and clearly knew it as he reacted to her appraisal with a smoldering grin.

She hurriedly listed off the reasons she was leaving him, even as she pulled back from the doorway and disappeared from his view, raising her voice so he could hear her. Without waiting for a response, she hustled Indy into the foyer and quickly closed the door behind her. Lifting the lid to the wood box, she shoved the remaining pieces towards the front before opening the outer door that opened into the carport. The temperature and darkened length of the room depressed her as she tromped to the woodpile and begin hauling small loads back to the bin.

Snow covered the only window at the far end, allowing for little outside light, and she judged easily that seven feet of snow had accumulated. That much snowfall would prove difficult in accessing the roof and the generator was going to be even more work than she cared for on a good day, and doubts about her shoulder being up to supporting her as she climbed the roof wiped away any pleasant thoughts she might have had. No sense in dreading something that hadn't taken place yet, she chided herself, and started singing an upbeat melody to lift her spirits.


	22. Chapter 22

Jamie swiped at the trickles of sweat that beaded a path down her forehead and dripped into her eyes, as she dropped the last load of wood into the bin. She felt a small sense of satisfaction from accomplishing the task and steeled her resolve to walk away from the bench that ran the length of the foyer. As enticing as a few minutes of rest would be, she knew it would sap the energy and willpower she needed to continue on with her self-imposed duties.

She knocked her gloves together and brushed off bits of wood and dust particles from her damp forehead, and reached for the snow shovel. Holding it in front of her, parallel to her hips, she pulled back the tarp revealing a white mountain beyond. Thick flakes resembling large potato chips fell from the clouds and piled up quickly. The small strip of sky barely visible above the mound of snow was a darker grey than the hill she stood before. Her shoulders sagged at the prospect of digging her way through the imposing mass, but every path starts with a shovelful, she reminded herself. She chuckled wryly thinking of an old joke as she bent to start the impossible. How does one eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Indy thought it was a game as Jamie would twist at the hips and throw a shovelful of snow across the floor of the carport. For the first few minutes he eagerly chased the spray of snow, snapping at it in midair, and eventually he lost interest, giving up his game of chase. It made Jamie smile as she continued, switching hands every so often to ease the strain on her shoulder, making small progress toward her goal of clearing a pathway to the shed that housed the generator.

The going was slow and painful and the few feet she'd carved out didn't seem to make any impression when she glanced over her shoulder to check on her progress. She gritted her teeth together and turned back to the business of moving a mountain, humming what she deemed rebel rock. Guitar rock, 80's heavy metal, whatever label they used, it never failed to lift her spirits and give her a much needed boost that made her feel as if she really could be superwoman.

Her back was soaked in sweat, and she could feel the trail of water running down her spine making her damp t-shirt stick to her back above her waist like a second skin. Soon she'd be forced inside to change into dry clothes, but she was determined to clear away a little more before she stopped.

After a dozen more shovel loads Jamie sighed and threw the last lot of snow playfully at Indy for him to chase. She rubbed at her ice-cold ears with the flats of her palms to rid the frozen appendages of their stinging soreness.

When she stepped into the front room she half-expected to see Blue Eyes lying down but finding the mattress empty, let her eyes sweep the room in search of her house-guest. He was standing at the kitchen sink, shirtless, with his back to her and leaning against the counter with both hands busy in front of him. The kitchen chair he'd requisitioned for his make-shift cane stood next to him on his left side.

Momentarily, she forgot about her frozen ears as she stood mesmerized, watching the muscles in his shoulders and upper back move in sync with his motions. He appeared to be pulling something apart, his muscles bunching, then relaxing and stretching as the plastic package gave way with effort.

"Are you planning on standing there ogling me the rest of the afternoon or do you want to give me a hand with this?" he said, holding up a partially shredded freezer bag clinging tenaciously to the brown brick it had been wrapped around.

Jamie started at his accusation and felt her face flush with guilt even though he still hadn't turned to look at her. She recognized the lump he held over the sink as he attempted to peel off more of the plastic wrap.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her focus on the bag he was ripping apart, and hurried towards the sink grabbing for the package he held in his hand. He pushed her back with a forearm block and raised the package higher. Jamie brought her arm down across his forearm, and twisted slightly, her body now facing him and reached for the package again with her left hand, only to grab empty air.

"Back off, woman," he said, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "Unless you want to wrestle." He wriggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and tilted his head back to give her the impression he was looking down at her from a much higher position. A squeak erupted from him and his eyes widened as she laid her hand threateningly against his tender ribs and offered him her own triumphant grin.

Instead of dropping the package into her hand, like she expected, she suddenly found him leaning heavily against her body, trapping her between him and the counter behind her. Thick stubbly growth below his jaw line pressed into her cheek and her chin rested on his collarbone.

She closed her eyes, aware of their close proximity and his musky smell and briefly relived their morning kiss. She felt the movement of his chest rising and falling with each inhale through the multiple layers of clothing she wore.

"Hmmm," his voice rumbled, causing a shiver to run through her when his warm breath caressed her ear. "Are you always this stubborn? Not that I mind a challenge," he mumbled in her ear, turning his body to pin the hand resting against his ribs to the counter.

She flexed her hand, pushing her cold fingers gently against his warm, bruised skin and was rewarded with a sharp intake from him. His body tensed in response to her unvoiced threat to inflict further pain on his ribcage.

"Evil woman," he said. "Must you always go for that particular weak spot? Show a little originality, predictability is boring."

"But effective," she said, shaking her head and leaning back, creating distance between them. "You're doing it wrong," she objected, half-heartedly reaching for the torn wrapping but only succeeding in slapping at his arm.

He pushed back and regarded her with puzzlement. "First time anyone's complained about my technique," he said, studying her expression. Jamie snorted with laughter at his obvious disappointment, and dropped her forehead to his chest as Blue Eyes lowered his arm.

His finger crept under her chin and lifted her face to his. "I'm wounded." He placed his hands over his heart, before gingerly pointing at his own head. "Seriously, concussion, bruised ribs, sprained ankle," he hesitated, having pointed out all the listed wounds and Jamie bit her lip in an attempt to stifle more giggles. She thought he looked so innocent and childish as he pointed out his injuries. "And that's just for starters," he finished quietly, no longer looking at her.

Jamie rested a hand on his bicep, no longer in the mood for laughter. His last comment had come out too honestly.

Jamie waved his questioning look off at the sudden lack of her playfulness and she twisted to retrieve the solid block that now rested in the sink, sighing as she turned it over in her hands. "It's not that difficult," she said lifting the mangled wrap and its contents cupped in her palms. She moved past him and dropped the brown lump into a pan where it landed with a loud clunk, then placed them both back into the sink, stopping the drain and turning the water on.

"Let that sit for a few minutes," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Then you should be able to pull off the rest of the plastic. All you have to do is drop the whole package into warm water and let it heat up," she explained, stripping out of her wet clothing.

"Well if it had come with instructions." She turned to find him reaching for the hem of her shirt.

"Wait- what are you doing?" she asked, slipping out of his reach. She raised one hand in objection, and pulled her shirt down with the other.

"I was sneaking another peek at those perky breasts," he stated, then rolled his eyes in mockery as she hmphed her disapproval and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Oh relax, I was only going to palpate the area around your shoulder and see what kind of damage you've done to it in the last few hours, seeing as how you wince every time you move it. And when I'm finished with that," he said, leaning on a chair back for support and hobbling closer. "You can wrap my ribs and ankle."

Greg didn't wait for acknowledgment and slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt again, pulling upwards. Jamie uncrossed her arms with slow deliberation and with her right, helped him lift it over her head and let it slide down her left arm, catching in the crook of her elbow as he poked lightly around her shoulder, assessing the injury. His eyes drifting not so subtly to the rise of her breasts snuggled in her sports bra, and Jamie reddened under his scrutiny.

He cleared his throat, directing his gaze back to her shoulder and his features grew serious as he maneuvered her arm through a series of motions. "What's so important that you're trying to maim yourself?" he asked as Jamie flinched under his touch.

"I have to dig a path through the snow in order to reach the generator, and then double check the connection to the antenna for radio reception," she said, her words ending in a hiss as he hit a tender spot and she turned her head away. Not in time to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

Greg mumbled what may have passed as an apology, which would have earned him a psych evaluation if Wilson had heard, and slowed his movements, probing more gently and watching her for any reaction. "If you continue abusing this shoulder, you're risking permanent damage. You've got a possible tearing of the supraspinatus muscle, but I won't be able to tell without an MRI. We've got heat, water and food. How long is this storm supposed to last, or are you afraid we'll become the Donner party?"

Jamie turned abruptly, dislodging his hands from her shoulder and arm, and pulled her shirt back over to cover herself. She strode across the room, not even bothering to walk around the make-shift bed on the floor.

"Do you think you're going to save the world one person at a time? Nobody's that good," he called out after her. His voice carried loudly in the room and seemed to echo off the walls. Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, blinking back the hot tears of defiance threatening to spill and felt her fingernails dig into her palms. She hadn't saved anybody yet, and she harbored no intentions of wanting to save the entire world, or to be anybody's hero, and yet she couldn't bring herself to say the words out loud.

"Playing rescue ranger in the middle-of-nowhere gives you a semblance of control, but it's only an illusion. You're hiding, or running from something, all the while hoping your actions will make a difference, why?"

"Everyone's entitled to their illusions," she shot back, slipping her left arm into the sleeve of a dry t-shirt before pulling it over her head. "Where do you get off thinking you're judge and jury? You know nothing about me, and if I recall correctly, it was me that came to your rescue."

He waved her off with an impatient jerk of his hand; the other gripping the back of the wooden slatted chair for support. "I'm not the one that's playing martyr to impress someone."

Jamie barked a short laugh as she dumped the first aid supplies she'd gathered onto the kitchen table and tilted her head, her mouth stretching outwards into a grin. "It's a wonder you manage to get that ego through a doorway," she said, unrolling an ace bandage and stretching out a length of the wide tan strip before sliding a couple of orange plastic tent spikes towards him. Motioning to the chair he stood behind, she drew another chair over and sat facing him and continued. "I don't have delusions of saving the world," she said quietly as if gathering her thoughts while her hands with an easy grace. "What if-"

"Why did-"

He lowered himself into the chair, their questions overlapping as they both fell silent, each waiting for the other to continue.

Jamie brought his foot up onto her lap, pushed back the sweat pants to reveal the ugly swelling and dark bruising just above his anklebone, and wrapped a folded bath towel around his lower leg. Setting the plastic spikes to either side of the cushioned leg, she began wrapping the ace bandage around his ankle.

"You wanted to know what if," he prompted, his tone strained as he forced himself to keep from clenching his teeth. His leg trembled slightly from the effort of keeping some of the weight off of his ankle or from the idea of expecting more pain, Jamie wasn't sure.

She was intent on her motions as she wound the strip of elastic around his leg, being especially careful not to jostle or bump the ankle. All the while wondering how to rephrase the question she had been ready to pose. Was it something he'd understand or ridicule her for? Thus far, he seemed as tipsy as a teeter-totter in his dealings with her, one moment joking and lighthearted and the next as acerbic as sour lemon candy, and it cemented the idea that he was battling his own internal demons. Either that, or she had terribly misjudged him and he belonged in an asylum. She was saved further contemplation when his next question interrupted her thoughts.

"Kendra?"

Jamie looked up to find him frowning, his attention caught by an ironed on name tag attached to her first aid pack, which he held between his fingers. His expression looked thoughtful, as if he was trying to recall something.

"Kendra," she repeated. "My last name."

"I get that," he said absently, tracing a finger across the raised lettering, a distraction for him as he tried to match the name against memories. Jamie patted his good knee as a reminder that he could remove his leg from her lap, and he lowered it to the ground with the use of both his hands under his knee. "Who's the doctor in your family?" he asked, sitting back as if the effort of had cost him the remainder of his energy. The name had struck a chord in his memory and he briefly recalled Wilson's eagerness to explain something, but then the thought was gone.

Jamie shook her head, grateful the conversation had been diverted, although not fully understanding the new direction it had taken, and began tearing up a bed sheet into long strips.

"Father, brother, uncle?" he pressed.

"All dead."

"What about the female side—"

"Same," she cut him off, and listened in satisfaction to the long tearing rip of the sheet.

"That's quite the depressing lineage, although one never has to worry about answering an invitation for family reunions."

"Yeah, I'm sure you always see the sunny side of things."

The terse retort gave Greg pause as he followed the v-shaped rip of the fabric as the sheet separated into multiple parts. But he wasn't about to let go of the only lead he had on that whispered thought in his mind, not until he could satisfy his curiosity. "How long ago?"

The question caught her by surprise and she sat speechless in front of him, holding three feet of folded sheet between her hands, seeming to measure the material as she eyed the small pooch of his belly. "How long ago what?" she asked, indicating that he should get to his feet. His stomach lengthened and smoothed as he rose up, right hand against his outer thigh and left hand braced for support on the table. She could see the hint of hair trailing below his belly button and disappearing under the waistband of his sweats.

Get a grip she told herself, you're supposed to be impersonal when being a caregiver. _You're only administering first aid, so quit acting like he's Richard Gere sweeping Julia Roberts off her feet in Pretty Woman_.

Jamie stepped closer and slipped her arms around his waist; aware that he was quietly surveying her actions as she secured one end of the sheet with a hand pressed to his side and wrapped the other end around.

"Nineteen ninety eight in the New England Journal of Medicine there was an article written on the experimental usage of virtual reality and cancer patients," he began, his eyes focused on the far wall as Jamie continued binding his ribs. He didn't see the slight tremor of her hands as he went on to describe the piece. "They were using music and computerized images to temporarily block the neural receptors and construct an alternate reality where the patient was able to experience events that didn't really happen. At the time, it sounded like a lot of mumbo-jumbo science fiction fantasy, but the author was passionate and shared your last name." He finished and looked down as she tied off the last piece and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"You make a good mummy," she said, completely oblivious to his recital and busied herself with cleaning up the left over supplies on the table.

"So no known relatives at that time who would have been capable of publishing that article?"

"Nope, sorry."

"No one besides you wanting to save the world?"

Jamie turned, afraid her expression would give her away and was relieved to find him inspecting his bandaging by attempting to slide his fingers between the sheet and his skin. "Too snug?" she asked, hoping he'd drop his line of inquiry.

"Nope, seems all right."

She took the statement as a compliment and sentiment of thanks. "No secret Nobel Peace Prize Winners?"

He wasn't going to let it go and Jamie forced a laugh. "No. No doctors, nurses, veterinarians, pharmacists, ambulance drivers, medical students, candy stripers, volunteers, boy scouts, or any other health related field personnel in my family history that I'm aware of."

"And you're not married." He stated. She gave him a quizzical look and he pointed to her empty ring finger. "No band and you would have negated me up front if Kendra wasn't your maiden name."

"So tell me your deductions, Sherlock," she said sarcastically as she cleared the kitchen table.

"You'd change the world, if you thought you could." Her hands shook as she closed the zipper on the first aid pack. It was the question she had been going to ask him earlier. What if I could change the world? Hearing it from him unsettled her, and she blurted out the first thing in her mind.

"I did change the world. I saved you," she said with all earnestness as she moved to the sink to rescue their lunch.


	23. Chapter 23

Greg's stomach rumbled as the smell of beef, onions and brown gravy simmering into a hearty stew grew stronger, slightly masking the odor of pine he'd come to associate with his surroundings.

Using the kitchen chair as a walker he'd hobbled across the length of the room, slipped a faded Who t-shirt on, and slowly made his way back to the kitchen table in the time it had taken Jamie to bring the frozen lump to a boil. His earlier assistance, in the ineffectual unwrapping of their lunch, hadn't seemed to deter her in efforts to get the meal together.

His mouth watered as he detected the aroma of fresh bread and wondered when she'd had time to make a loaf. He wasn't _that_ slow, he mused, lowering himself into the chair, and recalling the hours he'd watched his Oma kneading loaves.

Although short, the walk had sapped most of his strength, and he could feel a headache coming on. He mentally kicked himself for not taking any Vicodin while he was on the other side of the room. Glancing longingly across the distance to his pain-killer-containing duffle bag, he eventually pulled his attention back to the stove and decided to content himself with watching his own personal chef instead.

Jamie's hips swayed in time to the song she hummed as she stirred the cast-iron pot sitting atop the wood stove. He caught bits and pieces but couldn't place the melody. She seemed lost in her own world when she walked past the table and grabbed plates, silverware and condiments, piling everything precariously before returning to the table and dumping it in front of him.

Without further explanation, she walked around him to the door he'd been puzzling over earlier. Curiosity got the best of him and he twisted in the chair so he could watch, but his effort was only rewarded by disappointment. He wasn't sure what he had expected to find behind what he'd labeled the Mysterious Closed Door, but a pantry full of dry and canned goods wasn't it.

Inside the shadowy cupboard he could make out even rows of mason jars lining the shelves, stacks of boxes, cans and stacked storage containers. Wilson would be sure to be suitably impressed and want to spend hours discussing expiration dates, storing techniques and the best containers to use.

"What's that face for?" Jamie asked, closing the door behind her and setting down two similar looking jars with different colored lids in front of him. "I only have strawberry or marmalade, unless you prefer honey?"

"That wasn't it," Greg shook his head, picking up the jar of Smucker's strawberry jam. The stockpile of food had sparked a bigger and uglier thought. They really were stuck here for who knew how long. "How often do you get stranded out here?" he asked, not sure if he actually wanted to know the answer.

Jamie patted his shoulder in a reassuring gesture, as if she'd read his mind, before returning to the wood stove. "Usually only a couple of times a year, mostly during the winter months due to the snowfall. It's really not so bad." She turned to face him. "There are plenty of supplies and even with the electricity out, the place stays comfortable with the stove." She brought the steaming pot of stew to the table and began to dish up their plates.

"It's happened in the summer?" He couldn't imagine what could happen to strand someone inside during the summer months.

"It does sound rather odd, but the occasional fire forces folks to house the influx of firefighters, and our homes instantly become bed and breakfasts without much warning." Her voice and manner were light when she spoke, as if opening her home to strangers was perfectly natural, and Greg felt a strange pang of jealousy that he hadn't been her only guest, nor her first.

He licked his lips in anticipation when she pulled the loaf of bread with its golden crust out from the side panel on the stove, placed it on a cutting board on the table next to him and ran the bread knife downwards a couple of inches from the end. Steam rose as the slice fell away and he eagerly snagged it, lathering it in a layer of melting butter.

"If this is a common occurrence, why are you so hell bent on killing yourself to get to the generator? Like you said, you have enough food and water to get by for a couple of weeks," he asked around a mouthful of bread.

"Call me spoiled," she said, rolling her eyes to emphasize her sarcasm. "I enjoy my modern conveniences such as hot running water, frozen food, electrical lights, charged batteries and the ability to communicate with the outside world." Her gaze swept past him and he knew she was looking at the radio sitting against the wall behind him.

"Boyfriend?" he blurted out, and was inwardly pleased when she gave a short laugh.

"Friend. Actually he's my boss, and . . . a friend," she reiterated with a moment's hesitation. She busied herself with pushing her food around on her plate to give the impression she was eating. "Our radio transmission got cut off right before I found you."

"And you're worried that he's thinking you're dead or dying out there somewhere." His statement was confirmed by a nod as she laid her fork down and sniffed loudly. He laid a hand on her forearm and squeezed until she raised her eyes to meet his. "I'm thinking if he's known you for any length of time he's aware of your stubborn tenacity." He offered her a grin as her eyes had begun to narrow defensively and they then softened, and she chuckled.

"You're probably right."

"Usually am," he said, unsure of where the slight bitterness had come from that had crept into his voice and turned his own attention back to his plate. An idea occurred to him and he looked up with a mischievous gleam and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Batteries?"

The fork stopped half way to her mouth. "Pardon?" Her eyes told him she didn't recall that piece of information and Greg gave a little wave as if what he was disclosing was common knowledge.

"What are the batteries for?" he prompted and grinned wider as her face flushed under his scrutiny.

"Wha-what batteries?"

He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. "The charged batteries," he reminded her. "The modern conveniences you enjoy?"

She quickly filled her mouth with a forkful of food and mumbled something unintelligible as she bent to her plate.

He shook his head and leaned forward. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that bit."

Her fork dropped with a clank and she wiped a napkin across her mouth, set in a hard line. "I said it doesn't matter."

His food forgotten for the moment, he leaned his cheek against a fisted hand and gave her what he hoped was a sensual look. "I could always help with that, for all the inconvenience I've caused."

Jamie pushed back from the table, spluttering indignantly, upsetting her chair which fell against the floor with a crash as she jumped to her feet. The thrown napkin did little to alleviate her frustration as it wafted gently down to the tabletop and she settled for placing her hands on either side of her hips and glaring at him.

Greg continued smiling demurely, enjoying the spectacle of her flustered actions.

"That's not what I was referring to," she snapped. "Rechargeable. Computer. Batteries." She enunciated each word clearly as if teaching him the finer nuances of the language.

Greg sat back, his eyebrows slowly drawing together and his eyes swept the room. _How the hell had she managed to keep a computer hidden all this time_? And, he wondered, where on earth did she keep it? The dresser wasn't big enough and he'd seen her open most of the drawers. There was no wardrobe, he'd seen the interior of the only two other rooms and it wasn't anywhere to be seen in the kitchen or living room.

He gave her a questioningly look. She'd been holding out on him all this time! There was something here that could work as a distraction and ease his boredom?

"Where?" he asked, knowing by her reaction she hadn't just made it up.

She cleared her plate from the table, although he noted she hadn't really eaten anything and hurried to the kitchen sink. "I loaned it out," she answered hastily, not bothering to turn back.

Damn, he thought, aware that he was once again relegated to his own devices in keeping himself occupied, and yet, something wasn't sitting right. He chewed thoughtfully and wondered just what secrets Miss Jamie Kendra was hiding.

The silence became as large as an elephant in the small room as he finished eating and she pulled on outerwear, determined to continue her earlier task of clearing a path to the generator. She could feel his eyes following her as she moved about and doggedly ignored him, finally storming out of the room and closing the door behind her firmly, deriving a little satisfaction as the windows shook.

Greg sat quietly, assuring himself that she wouldn't be returning within the next few minutes and then stood with determination beside the table and let his eyes rove critically over the room. He wasn't going to start trying to solve a puzzle he told himself, grinning in anticipation, not at least until he found all the pieces.

+++house md+++house md+++

"It's your turn," Kieran offered quietly and returned to reading his paperback, while Mike contemplated his next move.

Mike wasn't sure why Kieran had even offered to play another game of Scrabble, knowing Mike's thoughts lay elsewhere. He guessed that at least it provided a distraction to help wile away time. Mike lifted six tiles, laying them across the board and covered a triple word score.

Kieran clucked dismissively, turning from his book, added Mike's score to the tally sheet, and scanned the addition before placing three tiles and negating Mike's accomplishment in those few moments. He buried his nose in his book again as Mike let out a long exhale and hunkered lower to peer at the thin block of wood displaying his newest letters. He began to rearrange them in his methodical planning.

The radio hissed and Kieran dropped his stretched out legs to the floor and moved to the small station, his eyes darting to the overhead clock. "Check in time," he announced and slid into the padded chair, placing the headphones snugly as he plugged in the cord.

Mike gave him a cursory glance and went back to studying his tiles and mentally kicking himself for giving Kieran such an easy setup. Normally, he'd be the one reading a book while Kieran sweated over the tiles, but Mike couldn't concentrate.

His thoughts were too preoccupied with Jamie's whereabouts, and scenarios ran through his head that only made him sick to his stomach to think about. She's all right; he continued to tell himself, she was more than capable of taking care of herself as she'd proven on more than one occasion. Still it was the multitude of unknown possibilities that kept him on edge.

He held the Q tile between his thumb and forefinger, letting it rotate as he tapped the corners against the card table. Useless without a U, he thought, his eyes boring holes through the game board as he listened to Kieran answering the call-ins.

It was becoming routine, while the snow continued to pile up around them, homes were losing electricity and having to rely on their back up generators, or battery operated radios. No one was moving from their homes, and he suddenly thought of being trapped in a snow globe. He felt as if they were puppets fulfilling a repeating script. He was getting maudlin in his old age, he chastised himself and once again rearranged the little wooden tiles in his holder, mentally checking off the names repeated in the background.

Mike was still debating his turn when Kieran returned to the folding chair opposite him and resumed his nonchalant lounge, reopening the mystery novel, removing the bookmark and continuing read as if there'd been no interruption.

"Carl says that one of their last guests is going to need medical assistance as soon as anything opens." Mike looked up to discover Kieran was only staring at his book, waiting Mike's response.

"The two men that arrived after I left?" Mike leaned back and let the tiles drop to the edge of the table forgotten.

"Gloria's pretty much gone through her first aid kit and made him as comfortable as possible, but he's in quite a bit of pain. Carl says she is sure the guy has a broken hip and concussion, but he drifts in and out. The strongest drug she has is aspirin, and he's running a fever."

Mike shook his head and ran a hand through his hair and stopped when it rested it on the back of his neck. "Not much we can do until this weather breaks," he said with another long exhale. Kieran simply nodded in agreement. Both sets of eyes looked towards the black screen of the radar on the computer monitor, as if it held all the answers.

Mike stood and walked to the doorway, his boots clumping hollowly across the wooden floor, and pulled the screen aside to look out at the mountain of white engulfing them. He leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass wishing the snow away, and closed his eyes against the darkening grey of the sky. There was no sign of it letting up.

+++house md+++house md+++

Jamie's energy waned as the sky continued to darken. She'd cleared the few yards to the shed that housed the generator and leaned gratefully on the handle of the shovel. She watched the shades of grey settle over the white landscape and imagined a rainbow of all white. It wasn't hard to picture with the absence of colors before her.

She had almost forgotten Indy was with her when he began a low growl, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

"What is it boy?" she asked, reaching a gloved hand out to pat his head. He sniffed at the air, and moved up beside her, both of them staring off into the woods behind the house. With a loud snuffle he lowered his head and crouched, the hackles rising on his neck and back making him resemble an overgrown porcupine about to leap forward.

Jamie hunkered down beside him and squinted into the distance, unable to make out anything besides trees and mounds of snow, all the while holding her breath. No sound reached her ears aside from the loud thumping of her heart and the rumble of Indy's growl.

Her legs began to cramp from the squatting position and she stood up, shaking them to get the blood flowing again. A black shadow crossed in front of her eyes and she shook her head thinking it was due to her fatigue. Indy had grown silent.

Jamie turned towards the shed and screamed when a yellow blur swiped at her outstretched arm. She pulled her arm back, but not quickly enough to escape the sharp claws that ripped through her jacket. Long ragged stripes stretched across the material looking like some eerie decoration on a uniform cuff.

She stumbled back, lost her footing and landed on her rear as a burning sensation spread along her forearm and watched in horrified fascination as red coloring began to tinge the edges of the slashes.

Indy had become a whirlwind of motion, leaping, snarling and snapping at the hissing cougar above him, just out of his reach.

Jamie swallowed hard, clasped her hand over the stinging wounds and looked up into the malevolent greenish-yellow eyes staring back. She sucked in a lungful of air and screamed. Anger, frustration and hurt combined in a piercing cry answered in a higher tone by the crouching feline at the edge of the shed's roof.

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and screamed again, her body tense, fighting fear and the cold. She kicked out propelling herself a few inches backwards as she depleted the air in her lungs, stopping only when she realized hers was the only cry.

Indy was pacing in front of the shed door, unable to skirt the building or follow the cat as it had leapt off the roof and disappeared behind the shed.

Jamie shivered as the adrenaline rush ceased and she was left sitting in the snow and sobbing. Her arm throbbed and she knew she'd need to attend to it, but first she struggled up to her knees.

The shed door was only a few feet away as she gained her feet, and lurched towards the small building and fought her way inside, slamming the door behind her. Indy paced relentlessly outside, whining and sniffing the air, offering his challenge to the intruder.

She would have liked nothing more than to hug the cold indifferent generator sitting there on the floor, its hard metal a symbol of stability, and instead grasped the plastic handle and pulled the starter rope, feeling warmth trickle down her wrist as she yanked upwards. There was a cough and then silence. Jamie dropped to her knees, fumbled for the choke and pushed the small rubber gas feed, then stood and yanked once more on the rope.

This time she was awarded with a chugging sound as the spark lit the gas and the engine came to life. The steady chug-chug at first sounded like it raced and then settled into an even thrum as the choke kicked off. Satisfied, Jamie stumbled to the door and painfully made her way back towards the house, clutching her arm to her.

Greg was standing inside the foyer when Jamie opened the outer door leading from the garage, the screams having penetrated the thick walls. One hand gripped his cane so tightly it forced the blood from his knuckles, leaving a sharp contrast of white against the black wood. He dropped it upon seeing Jamie step past the doorway with Indy in tow, and his eyes widened at the dark stain under her hand.

"What the hell," he began then reached out as Jamie lifted her arm towards him. She burst into tears as he pulled her into the house and pushed her into the chair beside the door. Keeping her arm raised, he helped her out of her coat and grimaced when she cried out as he slid the tattered remains of her sleeve off.

A cursory glance at the blood soaked forearm of her sweat shirt made his stomach clench, envisioning deep gashes displaying tendons and muscles torn. "Don't move," he told her sternly as he set off to retrieve the first-aid pack she'd put away. "Tell me what happened," he said, already having a fairly good idea that she hadn't merely scraped her arm against a wall.

He caught a few recognizable words, as she hiccupped and sobbed. The word cougar sent a chill through him, and he recalled looking through picture books of the undomesticated varieties of animals when he was young. The single feature that remained with him throughout the years and assured him they really were wild creatures was the fierce independence in their eyes staring back at you when the camera caught them at just the right angle.

She continued to hold her arm out at an angle from her body, trembling from the exertion, and didn't bother to wipe away the tears or snot that ran down her face. Shock, he told himself and let her ramble incoherently as she struggled to explain her encounter with the wild animal.

Greg used another chair to move the medical supplies across the room, and sat down beside her, offering the occasional agreement and encouragement as she talked. When he pulled out the scissors and pinched the sleeve's material in his fingers directly above her elbow, her voice trailed off. She'd sucked in her bottom lip and looked on the verge of fresh tears, her body stiffening as the scissors drew closer.

He spoke in quiet confident tones outlining his actions. "I need to remove the sleeve and get a better look at your arm. I'm only cutting the material off then we'll wash the scratches and go from there. I want you to find the hydrogen peroxide," he continued, snipping the cloth around her arm. "Get out rolls of gauze and see if there is any tape." With her free arm she rummaged through the bag as if seeing the contents for the first time. Greg only cared that it was keeping her from watching what he was doing as he pulled the sticky material away from her skin.

Blood clotted at the edges of the wound, partly due to the cold and he found himself tugging a few stubborn strips of the sleeve away causing fresh bleeding. Overall it appeared less serious than he'd first surmised, for which he was thankful, and he settled into the task of cleaning and assessing the deeper of the scratches.

She sat silently, watching and occasionally sniffing, and no matter what subject he brought up there was no response. He finally settled on a monologue of what he was doing, giving her a clinical rundown of his actions. He could have used a few stitches on the deepest of the slashes in the meaty part of her forearm, but was content with wrapping it tightly to restrict the blood flow. He'd have to keep an eye on it for infection.

"Sitting there like a lump isn't doing my ego a lot of good," he admitted and waggled his eyebrows as he placed the final piece of tape, and sat back to relieve the tension in his lower back. He pushed her arm down and decided they could both use a stiff drink.

"Hope you don't mind," he said, levering himself up and out of the chair and then hooked a hand under the back of her arm and coaxed her gently to her feet. "I got bored earlier and checked out your pantry, which isn't all it seems," he confessed, and glanced sideways to judge her reaction, continuing when it garnered no response. "We'll get to that later, for now, the pharmacy is open," he finished, setting two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels out.

Jamie sat at the table staring at her wrapped forearm, fingers picking aimlessly at the table top, a glass of whiskey in her other hand. Greg sat opposite, sipping his own whisky and waited.

She hadn't said another word, simply stared at the bandage around her forearm. He wasn't sure what was going through her head, but he knew he was exhausted and figured she was near collapse herself.

Greg pushed his empty glass back and stood, hobbling the short distance around the table to stand behind her.

"C'mon, you need some rest," he suggested, tugging on her arm. Jamie didn't resist and quietly allowed him to lead her to the bed where she turned and sat on the edge, wrapping her arms across her stomach.

Greg found her baggy pajamas and got her into the dry clothes, leaving the others in a pile beside the bed. He was too tired to even care that her nipples were hard nubs poking through her bra as he buttoned the cotton shirt up.

She looked so lost, sitting there on the edge of the bed he couldn't bring himself to just leave her there alone. He maneuvered himself to the middle of the bed, shoving pillows behind him, and still sitting upright pulled her to him, her back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Her head lay back against his shoulder, and he bent to nuzzle her neck, and murmured comforting words under his breath, quietly assuring her everything would be all right.

He wondered what good were promises you couldn't keep, but then, everybody lied.

+++house md+++house md+++

Wilson stood in House's empty apartment aware that he half expected his friend to come barging through the front door at any moment and laugh aloud at Wilson's obviously misplaced concern.

Long shadows stretched across the living room floor, blending into darkness as the sun sank behind the buildings across the street. Lampposts flickered on in the deepening evening, sending out shafts of yellowish light that didn't reach beyond the panes of glass, yet Wilson could make out in the dimness a ghostly layer of dust blanketing the piano.

He closed his eyes against the reminder of time's passage, and sank onto the leather sofa pulling one of the mismatched pillows to his chest. The quiet and stillness surrounding him allowed his thoughts to wander and he replayed his earlier conversation with Cuddy. Of course she'd been correct. Since she'd given House three weeks off, the police weren't going to be concerned as to House's whereabouts until after the stated time frame. The sergeant had listened politely, jotted the obligatory note and nodded in all the correct spots. But Wilson understood there would be no help forthcoming until another week had passed, if not longer.

Wilson remembered another time, years ago, sitting on a street corner and waiting for his brother David to come home. He blew out a shaky breath, blinking back warm tears as memories of cold evenings watching strangers go by and hoping that the hidden face would be the face he sought. To this day he was still waiting for his brother, and with House's disappearance and subsequent silence it had opened old wounds.


	24. Chapter 24

The muted crackling of the fire in the wood stove and Jamie's steady breathing lulled Greg into a light doze. When he next opened his eyes the room had darkened into deep shadows, and he could feel a chill settling around them. Jamie seemed oblivious to the temperature until he pulled his arms away and let her settle against the pillows, where she rolled onto her right side and curled into the warm bedding. Rubbing life back into his right arm, he covered her with a couple of blankets, then reached for his Vicodin. Dry swallowing two white pills he pushed up from the bed and began the slow trek to the stove.

He grabbed the oven mitt used for opening the stove's door and twisted the metal handle downward, cringing and glancing quickly towards Jamie's sleeping figure when the metallic scrape sounded like fingers scratching a chalkboard. She didn't stir. There were still orange embers that flared brightly when he opened the small door and a welcoming draft of escaping heat rushed past. He added three good-sized chunks of wood, small flames quickly licking upwards at the dry offering. He closed the door, and dusted his hands off.

He looked towards the pantry door then back towards the bed where Jamie slept, oblivious to his indecision, of whether or not to continue his earlier search, and slowly hobbled back to the bed, laziness winning out over curiosity in the end. But not enough to stop him from pulling back the thick curtains draped over the window beside the bed.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see and squinted to look past the glass, realizing with clarity and disappointment that his eyes didn't need to adjust to the difference in lighting, for there was nothing to see beyond the window pane but a wall of snow. He caught a glimpse of his reflection; a shadowed outline, and lifted his hand to press against the cool glass. It was as if the window sucked the heat out of his body, the snow beyond unfazed by the stolen warmth. He blew out a long breath leaving a patch of moisture on the pane that quickly shrank and disappeared as the heat evaporated.

He smiled, remembering long car rides as a child while he sat in the back seat alone entertaining himself with creating pictures on the side window, until his father demanded he stop and quit slobbering on the window. Then his father would complain in loud tones to his mother that _the boy_ could wash the entire car since he had no respect for keeping things tidy. It never stopped him from creating more artwork when his father wasn't looking, as he'd been the one who had washed the vehicle to begin with.

Viciously he wiped his hand over the misted window smearing the picture and memories from the glass, wishing it were as easy to erase them from his mind. The heavy curtain dropped back into place, closing out the world once more, as he turned and dried his palm on the bottom of his shirt. He rubbed absently at the thickening stubble on his chin that was growing too long and thought about how he hated the idea of being trapped. His eyes fell on the form of Jamie and wondered if she too felt it. Helplessness.

He slipped back into bed, trying hard not to disturb her as he lifted the covers and slid close until their bodies melded together, she snuggled backwards into him and he draped an arm over her with a contented sigh. All the while telling himself it was purely clinical, this concern of his.

+++house md+++house md+++

A sharp hiss of static, followed by a few short chirps as if someone was trying to tune in an AM station forced Greg to pull a pillow over his head to block out the obnoxious noise. It was then he realized the warm body that had been lying in his grasp was gone. He'd worry about that later as sleep gently pulled him into her peaceful embrace once more.

Jamie sat in front of the small radio leaning forward and adjusting the dials, the noise in the room abated by the headphones she wore. She squinted at the dimly lit panel, not wanting to turn on any lights in the night's darkness and wake her guest. Why she continued referring to him as guest even though they were now sharing a bed, sounded awkward, but she didn't feel they were on quite a friend basis yet. After all, they hardly knew anything about each other were and had been forced together through an unusual set of circumstances.

Her hand froze as a sudden squawk sounded in her ear and she depressed the microphone, while increasing the output volume. "Ranger Base, come in," she said, then waited with every sense tuned to hearing any response. She jumped in her chair as a long burst of garbled voices cut in and tried to pinpoint the frequency, before recognizing the foreign speech and robotic message and realizing it was only a skip she'd picked up. She tried a few more times, then made a couple more adjustments and repeated herself. The hope she'd felt upon hearing the first splatter of distortion was quickly fading and becoming replaced with a bitter sense of despair.

Another crackle of static met her request and Jamie slumped back in the chair, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears and began to pull off the headset when a familiar voice came over the radio.

"Ranger three seven this is base, do you copy? Jamie? Jamie, is that you?" She could hear the shock intermingled with excitement in Kieran's voice even as his words broke up in transmission. A sob escaped as she sat forward again, pressing the headset down and grabbing the microphone.

Her voice shook with relief. "Ranger Base this is Ranger three seven over." The longest moment of waiting ensued as she held her breath for another response; feeling like a woman stranded in the desert, unsure if the pool of water ahead is real or only a mirage.

In that interminable moment of waiting at Jamie's end, Kieran pushed away from the desk, yanking off his headset and wildly yelled for Mike as he raced into the other room to inform his boss. Mike met him in the small hallway nearly colliding with Kieran as the younger man quickly flattened his body against the wall while breathlessly explaining he'd raised Jamie and pointed towards the office.

Ignoring all radio protocol, Mike picked up the microphone as he dropped into the chair, holding the headset up to one ear. "Jamie, it's Mike, where are you?"

Kieran smiled at the gruff concern that went out over the airwaves, the informality negated any cursory reprimand to the prodigal. He too leaned forward, bracing himself on the desk as he heard Jamie's voice respond, although the signal was weaker and fading a bit. He reached out to adjust the radio but Mike waved him impatiently away.

Jamie hugged herself in delight. She wanted to kick her legs and wave her arms wildly in jubilant celebration at hearing Mike's voice, but she took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. There was so much to tell, so many questions to ask, but she knew they may not have much time. "Mike, I've got a crash victim, stable, repeat stable. And a cougar sighting, over." She forced herself to speak slowly and then released the microphone.

Mike's face went from relief to a look of absolute horror as his eyes fell across the Sheriff's report and recalled the abandoned Blazer Jamie had notified him she was checking out. Had it really been four days ago? At that point he would have given anything to reach through the radio and pull her back to safety.

"Listen." His voice carried urgency and authority. "Is he near the radio, can he hear us?"

Jamie shook her head as she glanced back over her shoulder to assure herself that Greg was still asleep in bed and noted the pillow over his head, before turning back to the microphone. "Negative," she said, her instincts suddenly on high alert.

"Does his description match that of a mid-forties Caucasian, six foot tall, blue-eyes with a beard?" He asked and repeated again, then waited. When she responded in the affirmative he clenched his jaw and rubbed a palm across his forehead.

On the other end of the radio Jamie's hand started trembling as she listened to Mike's description. Their connection was becoming spotty and erratic and she missed most of the next transmission, although she caught the words "fugitive" and "dangerous" and asked him to repeat. She tried to make out the words in between the bursts of static and realized she'd lost the connection. She gave up after another ten minutes of searching for a signal then turned the radio off and set the headphones on the desk.

What was it that Mike had been trying to tell her? And why hadn't he seemed all that interested in the part about the cougar, his only concern being about her guest? She fiddled with headset mulling over the fragmented pieces of their conversation trying to pull more out of the jumbled message.

A small scream escaped as a hand came down on her right shoulder.

"Geezus," he yelped in surprise, and pulled his hand away as if he'd touched a hot stove.

She rounded on him. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Me?" His own voice rose defiantly as he waved a hand towards the headphones. "You were the one ignoring me. I couldn't get your attention."

He refused to move back when she stood up, holding his ground stubbornly and she in turn wasn't about to let him bully her. His lip curled, enjoying her feisty mood and just as swiftly he noted something furtive in her look. As if a switch had been flipped her false bravado faded quickly and she darted around him so fast he almost got whiplash trying to follow her movement.

"What the hell?" The temperature had dropped between them so quickly Greg thought maybe the roof had been ripped off and now they were standing outside. The darkness masked her expression and he was genuinely puzzled as he slowly turned to observe her movements.

"Did you want some coffee?" she blurted, not waiting for an answer.

Greg slipped into a kitchen chair and reached for the glass of whiskey she'd left behind earlier. "Coffee's fine," he said, taking a swallow of the whisky and grimacing against the welcome burning sliding down his throat. "The radio is working?" he added, knowing it sounded trite but was baffled by her sudden skittishness.

"Yep."

Well so much for scintillating conversation on that front he mused, finishing off the whiskey and debating if he should just go back to bed and forget the past few minutes had taken place. An overwhelming desire to figure out just what had transpired to bring on the sudden change in Jamie kept him sitting at the table.

He cleared his throat. "Stock market crash or hell's really frozen over?" Water sloshed in the coffee pot, rattling as she set it on the stove and he narrowed his eyes wondering what bad news had transpired to make her so nervous. "When is rescue coming?" He jumped when a coffee cup shattered on the floor.

Jamie swore and kicked at one of the larger shards, bursting into tears. Greg was on his feet and making his way towards her when she turned and pressed back into the counter glaring at him with one hand held forward to stop him. "Don't come any closer," she shouted, her voice wavering with emotions.

Greg squinted at her in the darkness unable to read her face, but heard unmistakable panic in her voice. "Look, I can handle bitchy, frazzled, distraught, and shocked, but I draw the line at hysterical. So either explain to me why you've suddenly decided I'm Jack the Ripper or I'm going back to bed and you can clean this mess up alone, or walk around on broken glass, either way I really don't care."

He stopped when she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's no rescue coming." She snuffled loudly and he tossed a kitchen towel to her to use as a Kleenex. She grasped the towel as if it was a lifeline then slowly sank into a sitting position. "The storm isn't subsiding, no one can get through," she admitted.

"You're stuck with me then." Using the countertop for leverage he shuffled across the floor, thankful he'd had the oversight to wear shoes, and pushed broken glass out of the way until he stood beside her. Her head was resting on her arms, which were wrapped over the tops of her knees. He leaned far enough over to push at her head with a couple of fingers urging her to look up. "C'mon, up," he said, offering her a hand.

She shook her head, dislodging his fingers. "I-I don't even know you?" she stuttered and hiccupped, cutting off the sentence. He leaned forward, grasping her right arm above the elbow and pulled her up beside him with a painful grunt.

"It's not important."

"I don't believe that," she said, unconvinced by his casual brush off.

"What do you want to know?" he asked resignedly.

"Who are you?" she blurted out between sniffles and gave him a beseeching look that held a hint of embarrassment. The look reminded him of Cameron's expression when she'd posed the question as to why he'd hired her. Time to come clean.

"Doctor Gregory House, Head of Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, board certified in Nephrology and Infectious Diseases, and doomed to an eternity of unbearable clinic hours. But friends and acquaintances call me House." He decided to leave off the other nicknames his staff and coworkers eagerly attributed to him and watched her process the information. He also saw no reason to expound on the reference of friends being limited to the singular entity.

"House," she repeated tentatively as if letting the name roll around in her mouth to see how it felt, and then frowned. "I prefer Greg," she said, and he nodded his acknowledgement.

"As to the reason I'm here," he shrugged. That would take a bit more time to explain, but from her stance he had the impression she would wait. "I was attending a medical conference in California –" He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to object. "I get to finish," he said and she nodded and folded her arms across her chest again, prepared to wait for the rest.

"After the conference at which I gave a lecture, so I do have a legitimate alibi there - I had a few days of vacation so I rented a bike and rode north. Ran into bad weather in Washington State, dropped the bike, and hitched a ride east with a truck driver." At this House paused, his brows knitting together as if a thought had suddenly struck him, and then finished his tale. "I was asleep when we took the scenic route, and woke up to find Florence Nightingale with a snifter of drink and an odd penchant for folk music."

He couldn't be sure, but from the way she tilted her head downward he knew her face was flushed. He lifted her head up with a gentle finger under her chin until she looked up and met his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that somebody besides Wilson would take him at face value, or maybe it was the idea that someone really thought he was worth saving. House averted his eyes and concentrated on the wall past her shoulder. "I won't ever intentionally hurt you," he said solemnly.

"Okay," she said quietly, when he finally looked back and held his gaze a little longer before nodding firmly. She shuffled her feet, the glass tinkling like wind chimes as she pushed it out of the way absently.

"All better now?" he asked, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him, relieved when she didn't resist or pull back. She nodded against his chest and he placed his lips on her hair and kissed the crown of her head. "Want to tell me what set you off?" he urged, rubbing his hand in small circles on her back.

Standing in the kitchen she repeated her conversation with Mike, or at least the pieces she had been able to make out. House snorted when she offered the description of the dangerous fugitive as Mike had relayed it to her.

"That accurately describes about a hundred thousand males in Jersey alone," he said, before encouraging her to continue. It was his turn to frown, and as she was still talking to his chest, she missed it. "He didn't seem at all concerned about the cougar?" he mused aloud. This time she did pull back.

"What are you thinking, you look worried about something and I'm guessing it has nothing to do with the cougar?"

"Where was the driver?" The question was one he thought aloud and his hand stopped moving on her back.

"What driver?" she asked, her brow furrowing in concentration as the subject took a left turn and she wasn't sure exactly what they were discussing.

"The truck driver, John." House suddenly realized he hadn't seen John or another body, aside from the decapitated hitchhiker, since they'd driven into the storm and he'd taken to the truck's bed to watch Clint Eastwood and ride out the worst of it. He'd completely forgotten about him until now. "There was another body at the wreck."

Jamie closed her eyes at the recollection of the body she'd had to move to get Greg out and shuddered with revulsion at the memory. Swallowing hard she managed to keep her gag reflex in check. "I'd rather not discuss it," she said meekly.

"Not Ichabod," he assured her. "There were three of us in that truck." At his reference to the headless horseman, she'd clamped her teeth together and was shaking her head. "He couldn't have just gotten up and walked away," he said, this time shaking his head hoping to knock something loose in his memory as to John's whereabouts.

"There was a lot of snow and visibility was low, but I'm sure I didn't see anyone else." Jamie shrugged.

House continued his own narrative from what he remembered from his rescue. "The truck had rolled onto the driver's side door, so if he had gotten out it would have been through the passenger door as the windshield was a wall of snow and trees. But he would have—"

Jamie placed two fingers against his lips not wanting to hear what would have happened if whomever this John was, had crawled through the passenger side, as her imagination would have provided the visual of that head falling off of the passenger's shoulders. House's hand wrapped around her fingers and lowered them and she bit her lip expecting him to continue.

"Or he was already out of the truck when it went over the side of the hill?" House concluded.

Jamie nodded, having reached the same conclusion and took a couple of deep breaths before relating to him her finding the wrecked Blazer. And how after discovering that vehicle, she had been ready to head home, except for Indy, who'd insisted she accompany him to the embankment where she'd found the rolled truck at the bottom.

"Great," House grumbled, "Lassie saved my life."

She laughed, hiccupped, and then laughed even louder as she swatted playfully at his chest with her hand. House grinned in response at her reaction, but was still puzzled by John's unexplained absence.

Well, as long as we're stuck here for a while longer, he thought, might as well make the most of it. There would be enough time later to put all the pieces together.

They shuffled out of the kitchen, leaving the broken glass for later in the day, and House leaned slightly on Jamie for support as they made their way back to the bed.


	25. Chapter 25

As soon as they reached the bed, Jamie assured him she'd be right back. She left him sitting on the edge of the mattress and hurried back to sweep up the broken glass left behind on the kitchen floor. House's bitter complaint that the broken pieces weren't going anywhere was from tired frustration, and was readily squashed with the argument she didn't want Indy or either of them to forget and cut themselves on the sharp pieces later.

She left him grumbling about frigid temperatures and set about cleaning up the scattered bits of the coffee mug that covered the kitchen floor. With the broom handle nestled against her neck, she one handedly swept the pieces into the dust pan. Wrapped up in her task, she did what came naturally to her after so many years, and began humming a childhood tune without thinking. House recognized the song as Paul McCartney's Blackbird, and wondered if it was just a subconscious choice or if the words held special meaning for her. Such was the case with a lot of music, he thought, if one contemplated the actual lyrics.

"Why do you keep running away?"

The words brought her up short and her humming fell silent, replaced with the swish of the broom. She gave him a puzzled look. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a shake of her head. Her back was to him as she emptied the contents of the dust pan into the garbage under the sink and to him it seemed that she stretched out the time it took to put away the broom and pan, finishing up by washing her hands.

House was already lying under the covers on the far side of the bed. He caught Jamie looking over her shoulder at him and pretended to stare up at the ceiling. He clasped his hands behind his head prepared to wait as she continued to stall.

First she picked up the dirty clothing left lying about the small living space and stuffed it into a wicker hamper set in the corner by the bed. She then proceeded to replenish the stove with a few pieces of wood and rearrange whatever was left in the bin. After several more minutes of delay tactics, she appeared unable to find any more excuses to remain busy and finally settled tentatively under the covers as far from House as possible, while still remaining in the bed.

House's eyes were closed and he felt the bed sag under her weight. He was already familiar enough to know she preferred to sleep on her side and continued to wait patiently until she rolled to her right. Exactly where he wanted her, as he turned his head and gauging her reaction, he knew she expected him to be asleep.

Jamie was sure House had dozed off while she had kept herself busy with meaningless tasks, unsure why, this time, she was so nervous about sharing the bed with him. Except she knew that wasn't true. She knew exactly why she was nervous. He brought out emotions in her she'd thought long buried, and yet here was someone she was already believing in and wanting to trust. Friendship was one thing, a controllable distance, but he made her want to stretch those boundaries – and her body was only too eager to take the leap.

His eyes opened when she turned to get comfortable and suddenly her mouth was dry and her heartbeat increased. She was sure he could hear it pounding in the minimal distance that separated them.

"Decided to take a break?" His tone was light, but those piercing eyes demanded more. Startled, she rolled away but was stopped by an unyielding arm around her waist. Opening her mouth to protest he cut her off. "Stop running."

"I'm not," she hissed, pulling against his arm and noting with satisfaction that he winced with the effort of trying to hold her. Her hands were now splayed against his chest in an effort to push him back and her body tensed when his other hand found its way to the back of her neck. Strong fingers began stroking and rubbing at the base of her skull and the calming sensations warred with her emotions. The logical part of her protested at the intimacy of their position and the physical wanted nothing more than to stretch languidly and hum with contentment.

His eyes never left hers, offering a reassuring calmness without words. As her body relaxed, his face softened, reflecting her surrender. His hold around her waist loosened in response while his fingers continued their massage. She closed her eyes and rolled her head a little enjoying the ministrations of his hand and allowed him to pull her closer until their bodies touched. She would probably be purring if she were a cat, and smiled at the thought.

"You lied to me," he said evenly, just above a whisper, and she would have seen the beginnings of a smile if she had opened her eyes.

"Everybody does," she responded almost sleepily. And then her face crinkled with realization and her eyes popped open. "I never lied to you." Suddenly she was on the defensive again. "What makes you think I did?"

"The instant acceptance when I told you my specialties."

She shrugged. "Infectious diseases and nephrology," she stated. "I don't see how that makes me a liar."

"A very, very good liar," he said, quickly planting a kiss on the top of her nose with a devil-may-care grin. Her confusion only made him grin wider, as if he'd caught her in the midst of a secret crime. "Nephrology?" He spat out suddenly, closing the distance between their faces, and laughed aloud when she shot back a single word in retaliation.

"Kidneys!" Her face turned a deep crimson as understanding dawned and she tried to pull the covers up over her head, but House was having none of that. Chuckling as he forced the covers back down, he rolled with her as she tried to distance herself, pinning her with his weight.

"I'm thinking that's not a course covered in Forestry. So, _Doc_," he said, letting it settle in the air with a grin of triumph on his face. His eyes moved quickly between hers, studying her reaction to his deduction.

Jamie turned her head and let out a long breath, resignation weighing heavily as her eyes filled with tears. "I already told you. I'm not a doctor."

"Your body says no, your articles say yes," he countered, shifting his weight, but not before Jamie understood the effect she was having on him.

Blinking back tears she faced him again, regaining some of her composure. "If you had looked closer at the articles, the MD was listed after Philip Brampton, with an ampersand separating the two names."

It was House's turn to look confused.

"It was a bastardization of the symbol," she explained. "Philip was the only doctor. Without him, I wouldn't have been able to pursue the research for my doctoral thesis. Which remains unfinished." She ran a hand across her face, letting a long sigh escape as if relieved by the admission.

"Which brings me back to my original question - why do you keep running?" He held her eyes in a steady gaze and flinched when her hand covered the scar on his thigh.

"Why do you?"

He pushed away and rolled onto his back, his hand now resting on his thigh, in the same place where hers had touched him. She followed him, their positions reversed as she leaned over him, her body pressing firmly above his. He was the one now retreating as a turtle pulling itself into its shell, and Jamie knew it was up to her to pull him back out of himself.

Her voice was low as she spoke. "We're both running from demons in our past," she whispered, placing a hand over his and offering a gentle squeeze. "It's much easier to keep moving than it is to turn and face them. I know it scares the hell out of me."

He opened his eyes only to find her head bent low so he couldn't see her face. Pulling his hand away from his thigh, he lifted her chin and kissed away a tear. His lips followed the wet trail down her cheek with butterfly kisses until he reached her mouth. There was a slight hesitancy as he brushed the corner of her slightly parted lips and pulled back, his eyes searching. After a moment's hesitation, their lips crashed in a pent up hunger longing for release. Hands roamed and explored as their bodies melded together, each searching for meaning and release. Separate injuries didn't prove too large of a deterrent as they compensated and adapted easily to each other's needs and desires.

It was clumsy, occasionally awkward, and probably way too fast, but neither of them cared.

Afterwards, lying together naked under the covers, House was mildly pleased with his performance and kissed the top of Jamie's head as another soft snore from her tickled his chest hairs. It had been a long while since he'd fallen asleep with a woman in his arms after sex. Long before the infarction. Stacy hadn't enjoyed cuddling after a vigorous romp, complaining that he was too hot, but secretly House had believed she was turned off by their combined sweat. Until now he hadn't realized how much that had bothered him. Being possessive by nature it only served as another reminder as to how incompatible they really had been, and he kissed Jamie again, pulling her tighter to him.

He didn't want to think about the deep abyss he stood on the edge of. Relationships never seemed to work for him, and he wasn't sure he was ready for the pain again. He reached out blindly for his Vicodin, aware that it only held the physical pain at bay for short periods, dry swallowed two pills and decided to live for the moment. Consequences be damned, he thought and felt a jolt of electricity shoot to his groin as Jamie shifted against him. He closed his eyes with a grin, wondering how morning sex would be.

**+++house_md+++house_md++++**

The blue glow of the computer screened bathed the office in unearthly shadows that reflected off the desk and bookcase behind it. The only other light in the room came from a thin yellow slip below the door leading to the hallway. A shadow crossed the solid beam followed by a soft knock.

Wilson lifted his head, squinting at the harsh intrusion and jerked upright as the door opened, suddenly becoming animated. The blue screensaver was replaced by a spreadsheet as his elbow hit the mouse, and he grabbed a pen and held it above the file he'd been laying on as Cameron poked her head inside.

"Doctor Wilson?" Her eyes swept the office as if expecting others to be there and Wilson hastily waved her in.

"Come in, come in. What can I do for you?" he asked, hoping he looked more alert than he felt, having dozed off after his last appointment, almost an hour ago according to his watch.

He stifled a yawn as she stepped inside still timid and peering around. "I-I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Doctor House," she stammered, her hands thrust into her lab coat pockets.

Wilson's shoulders sagged and he shook his head, laying the pen down and realizing the file he had used as a prop was upside down. "No, I haven't heard from him," he said, turning the file around, suddenly not caring if she knew how tired and worn out he was. "Was that it?" he asked, looking up and becoming annoyed at her interference now. Did the woman not know when her schoolgirl crush on her boss became obsessive and almost repugnant to those she worked with? Internally cringing at his harsh thoughts and blaming it on lack of sleep.

She pulled a white envelope out of her pocket and unfolded it, handing it across the desk. Wilson frowned and took it from her, noting it was addressed to House.

"I thought that might help," she stuttered quickly, pointing at the envelope in his hand. "I was answering his mail and it caught my attention."

Infatuation and boredom led people to do a lot of crazy things he thought, including becoming your boss's personal secretary. "Everything going all right? I mean with the clinic and the ER?" he said aloud, thinking that changing the subject for politeness sake would allow him to keep a check on his growing excitement. He was holding House's credit card billing statement, and was hard pressed not to rip it out of the envelope. The last thing he needed was for her to see his own eager anticipation, especially if it was a precursor to more disappointment.

"Yes, everything's going well. Chase is currently in NICU and Foreman's helping out in Neurology." Wilson nodded, pushing out of his chair.

"Good, good. Well, then, if everything's okay—" Cameron nodded in agreement as he directed her to the hallway. "I'm sure we'll see House in a week or so, and back to his usual routine," he added as an afterthought, not sure who he was trying to reassure, but glad she was taking the hint to leave.

"Goodnight, Doctor Wilson," she said, appearing slightly puzzled at the quick brush off and turned to head back towards the conference room.

"'Night, Doctor Cameron," Wilson parroted, then spun and closed the door hurriedly behind him.

His hands were shaking as he picked up the innocuous white envelope and slid the letter opener under the glued flap. Feeling a minor twinge of guilt as the knife edge tore across the envelope's crease, he quickly squashed it with the knowledge that House was always butting into his private affairs. And concern outweighed any cries of indignation his friend might voice.

The opener clattered to the desk as he pulled out the folded statement and smoothed it out his eyes going immediately to the last dates. He was breathing hard as he dropped into his chair, the statement lying beside his keyboard as he brought up Google and hurriedly typed in J&J Bike Rentals. It took a few minutes to locate a phone number and Wilson double checked the time. They were closed. He'd have to wait for morning, he sighed as he replaced the phone's receiver. A sudden thought occurred to him as he jotted the business's phone number down and quickly dialed.

They were on west coast time, three hours difference. And if he was lucky… He held his breath as the phone began ringing.

"Hello? Hello? Yes, I'm calling about a purchase made over a week ago." Wilson sat forward in his chair as if the motion would bring him closer to the speaker on the other end and relay his urgency. "It would be under the name of Gregory House, a credit card purchase made on the—" Wilson scanned the statement, his finger pointing out the purchase date as he relayed it. "Yes, thank you, I'll wait."

He leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face absently rubbing his neck, until the voice came back. "I'm sorry, what? No purchase? But I have a statement here—oh, I see." He was now rubbing at his forehead, an elbow supporting him on the desk. "Do you know the destination?" There was a long pause as Wilson listened to the speaker run through the usual legalese garbage of not being able to release information.

Panic began to creep into his voice. "Look, my name's James Wilson, Doctor James Wilson at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, and my friend Greg House is missing. I'm just trying to locate him and I need to establish his last known whereabouts so that I can check the local hospitals." Wilson blew out an exasperated sigh as silence descended again. Seconds turned into interminable minutes as he waited.

"My social security number?" he began to object, and then chuckled as the speaker explaining that it was listed next to his name as the only emergency contact, along with his phone number. Go figure that House would have been thorough enough to supply his social security number, let alone remember it. He rattled off his number and listened as one of the owner's, a Jesse, apologized for the red tape. Wilson nodded, impatiently tapping a finger while awaiting information about House.

"Seattle? Are you sure? And that was last Wednesday? Yes, yes I see. Thank you." Wilson hung up the receiver, his mind reeling with possibilities while he brought up a listing for all the hospitals in and around Seattle and began to make more calls.

All the while he was asking himself why House would ride north, but then why did House do anything? And the only explanation he could come up with for House not answering his cell, or at least contacting him, would be if he'd been in a road accident. His stomach clenched each time he inquired and wondered if the sour feeling was the start of an ulcer.

No John Does fitting the description of House had checked in in the last week, which gave him some relief. And as hospital records hadn't been requested, House hadn't been admitted under his own name. Wilson pulled up a map detailing San Diego to Seattle, and wondered just what had happened to his friend. He scanned the credit card statement again, and aside from the monthly cable charge and a utility bill, there was nothing else listed to hint at his whereabouts.

He grew thoughtful; staring at the computer screen then reached a decision and grabbed his jacket and briefcase. Walking past the conference room he noted the darkened offices and let himself in. Thumbing through House's mail which Cameron had so thoughtfully sorted earlier, he pushed it aside with impatience when he realized what he was looking for wasn't there.

**+++house_md+++house_md+++**

Yep, House grinned to himself, scratching at the bandage around his midsection as he sipped a cup of hot coffee, morning sex had proven even more enjoyable. After that kind of pleasurable activity, he could understand King Kong standing atop the Empire State Building and announcing it to the world while beating on his chest. He felt just like that this morning.

Fiddling with the dials on the radio, Jamie glanced over her shoulder and cocked her head. "You look like the cat that ate the canary," she said, cheeks flushed and her own smile mirroring his sentiments.

Pops and whistles amongst the static were the only noises coming from the console. Even after making numerous adjustments and getting no response to her transmissions, Jamie continued monitoring the set.

House leaned back against the headboard, content to sip his coffee and bask in the afterglow, thinking over the morning's conversation before they'd become more familiar with each other in the physical sense.

Jamie had filled him in on her time and research at MIT, where she'd worked with computers in designing an artificial reality for bedridden individuals to experience the world outside. The program was still in its infancy, but she'd lit up like a supernova as she explained the intricacies of working with the neurologists and test subjects while refining the program. House was lost on some of the more technical aspects of the research, but followed the medical facets with ease.

He remained silent about his own discovery on the previous day, wanting more than anything to complete the puzzle of who Jamie was, but felt their relationship was on tenuous ground and found himself reluctant to jeopardize it. If anything, he was becoming more captivated by her.

As she talked he found himself staring at his thigh, imagining the deep scars she carried to be just as ugly on the inside. It was probably the only time in his life he'd felt guilty for trespassing in someone else's private affairs. And her open willingness to discuss this part of her past with him acted as a salve and he wondered, not for the first time, if he was capable of falling in love.

Not the kind of love Wilson continually fell into, where his need for neediness insured he was useful in a relationship, but a hint at what he and Stacy had experienced at the beginning of their relationship. The knowledge that someone was willing to put up with your good habits as well as bad, and be there to support you in everything you did. Thus far, Jamie hadn't put him on a pedestal nor made any demands on him, but simply accepted him for who he was.

He squirmed suddenly feeling closed in and almost spilled his coffee when he looked up to find her sitting beside him and studying his expression.

"What?" he asked, a bit too abruptly and her forehead creased, then she looked away hurriedly.

"I was wondering how a bath sounded?" she asked, unable to hide a small grin spreading.

"As long as I don't have to shave." He wiggled his eyebrows in response and pulled her to him for a kiss, remembering her squeals of delight as he'd brushed his beard over far more sensitive areas than her chin.

She tried to put on a serious face as she scratched at his whiskers. "You are a bit fuzzy," she said.

He tickled her under the arm. "You too," he countered, mentally kicking himself as she pulled away suddenly. He caught her arm and pulled her back. "Relax, it's okay," he said, nibbling at the skin under her jaw and rubbing her with his beard. "You can worry about it after the storm passes. Then we can both get a shave." He was already losing himself in the heady aroma of her and not caring that the edge of the precipice loomed closer.


	26. Chapter 26

Kieran glanced up from his clipboard as Mike walked into the office looking a little more refreshed the following morning. Gone were the dark circles under his eyes, and the few hours of sleep he'd managed had erased most of the haggard lines of worry from his face. Freshly shaved, he appeared almost ten years younger as he slid into the seat Kieran had vacated.

Accepting a cup of fresh coffee with thanks, Mike's eyes drifted over the checklist of call-ins. "Nothing more from Jamie?" he asked, already knowing the answer, as hers was the only name without a time marked beside it.

Kieran responded in the negative, shuffled his feet and twirled a pencil in his hand, which he studied with rapt attention, not raising his eyes to Mike's. "What is it? You've got something you want to say?"

"Well—" He shifted from one foot to another, the pencil spinning like a top on the edge of his index finger as his thumb flicked it back into motion each time it came to a stop. He pulled his gaze away from the pencil and met the other's stare as Mike lifted the coffee cup to his lips.

"Come on, out with it. I'm not in a guessing mood." Mike's voice mirrored his frustration. If Kieran had information, he wanted to know about it, not play games. He knew the subject, or rather whom Kieran wished to discuss, and last night he'd cut him off abruptly when Kieran started to ask questions. Mike had not been willing to analyze his own feelings and thoughts at the time, nor did he care to share them with someone else. He still wasn't sure he wanted to share anything personal, but after a night's rest and more contemplation he thought he at least owed Kieran a listen. After all the kid, as he'd come to think of Kieran, had pulled his weight remarkably well during the last few days with no complaints, thus Mike steeled himself for what was coming.

"Is Jamie being held as a hostage?"

The simple, straightforward question left Mike speechless for a moment, and he set the coffee cup down on the desk before his shaking hands spilled its contents. He'd expected Kieran to eventually ask this question, not blurt it out leaving him fumbling for an answer. His first reaction was to laugh it off, but how would he convince Kieran if he couldn't convince himself? He'd asked himself the same thing as he'd replayed yesterday's short conversation in his mind, over and over, while he'd tossed and turned, before falling asleep.

He still had no answers, only fears.

Mike didn't dare to look at Kieran, afraid his expression would give him away easily. "I don't know," he said, aware his voice cracked at the end. There followed what felt like hours, rather than a few minutes of silence and Mike prayed he could keep his emotions in check for any further questions. None came.

They were both jumping to conclusions. There had been no confirmation from Jamie about the identity of her rescued stranger, and she hadn't sounded distressed when he'd spoken to her. Yet, adding to his feeling of unease, she hadn't checked back in and Mike knew she was well aware of the set protocols. He also hadn't gotten a chance to follow up on the cougar sighting she'd mentioned. Damn the weather and damn the feeling of helplessness he was forced to endure while they waited for answers. He fidgeted in the chair, nearly knocking over his coffee cup with his elbow. He managed to pull his arm back in time as the liquid sloshed over the rim, creating a brown pool on the desk. He swore softly.

"I've set the receiver to scan every ten minutes in case she's using a different frequency," Kieran said.

Mike nodded his acknowledgement relieved at the reprieve. He swiveled towards the computer screen, keeping his back to Kieran. The screen showed nothing but a warning about a failed connection and he tapped a few keys, getting nothing but the same response from the machine. Technology was only useful if the power and satellites held out.

"The National Weather Bureau radio update is claiming the storm is subsiding, and we've got a heavy Northern front following close behind." Kieran handed Mike a message printed neatly on a piece of notebook paper, the time noted only thirty minutes earlier.

Mike reread the message, then slid it to the top of the desk. "Hopefully it remains cold enough that the lower elevations won't experience any flooding," Mike said aloud, already thinking ahead to evacuation planning. A Northern, or warm winds and temperatures coming after a heavy snowfall, would melt the snow quickly and overfill the riverbanks and streams. He knew from experience that it was impossible to predict Mother Nature, and better to be prepared and ready for the worst before it stole upon you like an unexpected visit from your relatives.

As if reading his mind, Kieran acknowledged his next question before he could ask it. "I've already sent out a bulletin advising a flood watch for the next seventy-two hours." Mike nodded and turned back to the radio.

"Let's continue the bulletin at every check in, and get confirmation." Mike wondered if the weather could get any crazier for the month of October? "I used to laugh when the old timers would say, _'you ain't seen nothin' yet'_. Now I know better. Go get some sleep," he told Kieran, taking another swig of coffee. Then as an afterthought added, "And don't bother with the alarm, I'll wake you if I need you." He waved off the younger man's objection, leaned back, propped his feet up on the edge of the desk and opened his book. Just another day in paradise he thought. As he read, one eye continually strayed towards the receiver in the off-chance his ears wouldn't pick up a faint rogue signal under the steady hum of white noise. Sooner rather than later.

+++house md+++house md+++

Only so many hours in a day could be wasted by filling and draining a tub, bathing, eating, and watching the cleanup after a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon and pancakes. House had long ago hit his tolerance level for restless inactivity. He missed Wilson and his stupid ties. And a part of him, albeit a very miniscule part, would have preferred a few clinic hours just to have something to do, even if it entailed how to avoid doing those hours.

He took a sip of the lukewarm coffee that remained in the bottom of his cup, more for something to do than to quench any thirst, and was beginning to understand the phrase "cabin fever".

The last time he could recall this feeling of entrapment and utter boredom was when he'd taken his SAT's in high-school, and had to sit and wait until the rest of the students were finished. They hadn't even allowed books to be brought into the exams. Once he was through with the current section, he was left watching the second-hand on the large-faced clock tick away the seconds. He was sure that time was moving in reverse.

Jamie had spent the last half hour trying to establish contact with the outside world, fiddling with the dials and trying to raise a response in the ocean of white noise, leaving House to his own methods of keeping himself occupied. There wasn't much he could do: his cell phone was useless, having been dead for almost a week, so a game of solitaire was out, and the novel sitting beside the bed with its bare-chested, muscle man posed seductively on the cover didn't even remotely interest him as far as reading material. There was no television in the room, no magazines lying about, and no decks of cards. In fact, as he surveyed his surroundings for playthings he realized that, much like his own apartment, there were no pictures of family or friends visible. It was almost as if the room had been designed for use as a hotel. Drop by for the week and take your things when you go.

His thoughts strayed to the pantry and the room he'd found concealed behind it. For once he was hesitant to confront someone about their secrets. He frowned, trying to think of a way to broach the subject without alienating his roommate, especially since he was enjoying the added benefits of being "friends".

He glanced at his watch noting with a sinking feeling that only another ten minutes had passed. _This was going to be a very long day_. He propped his chin in his palm and sighed loudly, barely resisting the urge to drum his fingers on the tabletop. He let his eyes rest on Indy who was lying in front of the door, head resting on his front paws, looking just as bored as House felt.

Indy whined and was the first to pull his gaze away for the third time since House had enlisted him in a stare-down contest. He pushed up to his haunches, shook his head and turned to scratch at the door, looking back over his shoulder towards Jamie with a wistful expression.

"Would you two stop it?" Jamie said, interrupting House's sport with the dog.

House pointed at Indy, and opened his mouth to declare the hound a sore loser, when Jamie reached out and roughed his hair in a playful manner before he could speak.

"Comforting to know which one is the alpha male," she said in a sultry voice

He made a swipe at her as she passed him, his fingertips just brushing her sweats as she side-stepped nimbly beyond his reach.

"I'll show you alpha, and omega," he growled in disappointment, as his hand closed on empty air.

She tilted her head, giving him a saucy smile as she opened the door to let Indy out, and then settled back against the closed door with folded arms. "Pretty sure of yourself for someone who gets around as slowly as you do."

"A bum wheel doesn't detract from the high performance engine." He stood in one smooth motion, propelled upward by his arms and one good leg, and leaned forward on the table, daring her with his look.

There was a smoldering tension, which had nothing to do with the fire in the stove, and House felt the temperature in the room increase significantly. Jamie's blue eyes darkened as she stepped toward him, wetting her lips. Whether purposeful or not, that small movement sent his pulse racing and House quickly reassessed his negative definition of the term "cabin fever".

Jamie stopped a few feet from him, but then her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as a primal scream pierced the calm. Gone was the look of the suggestive temptress and in its place, confusion, concern, and fear, all tangled over her features, dousing the passionate atmosphere as effectively as a splash of cold water over burning coals.

Instinct seemed to kick in and Jamie spun towards the door, ignoring his shouted warning. She was too quick for him as she slipped into the foyer and dashed to the outer door. Thankfully she hadn't pulled the inner door shut behind her or House would never have caught up to her.

She tugged at the knob, one hand braced against the wall forgetting momentarily about the deadbolt, all the while shouting Indy's name, her voice laced with panic. House watched in horror as she pounded the door with a fist and then began fumbling with the deadbolt. Using anything he could for support, House stumbled forward, grimacing with each step. He was forced to grit his teeth against the pain as it shot up through his leg with each jolt against the floor.

The deadbolt seemed to stick, and it was all the extra time House needed as the flat of his palm pushed against the opening door and halted its progress. Not to be denied, Jamie grabbed the door knob with both hands and threw her body backwards in an effort to open it, letting out a loud grunt. House's arm bent under the pressure, but he was close enough now to throw his body against the door and it slammed shut with finality, accompanied by a series of yelps, snarls and shrieks, that became muffled through the wood.

Jamie whirled on House with her fists raised and began to hammer against his chest. "Let me go!" She threw her shoulder at him in an attempt to dislodge him from the door. Tears streamed down her scrunched face as the words came out in long drawn out staccato gasps in-between sobs. "I've got to get to him. You don't understand I—"

The last words were muffled as House succeeded in grabbing and holding what felt like a whirlwind. The struggle put strain on his right leg and it buckled under him. He slid down the length of the door, pulling Jamie with him and they landed in a heap on the floor. House refused to release her and Jamie continued squirming and pushing with everything she had. He proved to be the stronger of the two, even though it was taking a lot out of him fast, and they were both panting with the effort. House's arms shook with effort, overworked muscles complaining and Jamie continued ignoring his pleas to stop until a final yelp ended in abrupt silence.

Jamie's body went limp with the knowledge that the struggle outside had ceased and House loosened his grip, and closed his own eyes in relief as he fought to catch his breath. He could smell Jamie's shampoo, mingled with a sharper, more metallic odor. It was the smell of fear, he knew, coming off her in her sweat. She shook in his arms and from the wet warmth spreading across his chest, he knew she was crying. Her hands fisted into his shirt then suddenly she was pushing up and away from him.

Her face was covered with red splotches and anger emanated from her entire being. "You bastard," she spat with all the venom she could muster and he brought up his own hands in defense as she swung on him.

If he'd thought she had worn herself out in the struggle to reach her dog, he quickly learned she had a storehouse of deep reserves. One of her fists slipped his deflections and clipped him on the chin and House decided to end their tussle quickly by rolling on top of her, trapping her underneath his body.

She screamed, ranted, wiggled and struggled, but at least he'd stopped her wild punches from connecting with anymore of his body parts and knew she'd wear herself out soon enough. He lifted up a few inches to look at her when he felt the fight finally go out of her. She wouldn't look at him and turned her head, still sniffling and not bothering to wipe the snot that mingled with her tears falling to the floor.

"I'll let you up if you're finished," he offered and was met with silence. Taking the chance she'd regained control of her rage, he rolled off of her and sat up, keeping a wary eye on Jamie. With one hand he rubbed his sore chin and the other unconsciously went to his right thigh, the need and desire for a Vicodin overloading his thoughts, but he was too exhausted to make the effort.

House stole a glance at Jamie who lay in the same position he'd left her. Her body was twisted in the arrangement one associated with old police crime scenes, where an outline was taped onto the floor marking that of the deceased. If he hadn't seen her blink a few times, he might have shown more concern, but he attributed her lack of action to stubbornness and grief.

"It's only a dog," he muttered, sure that where she'd clobbered him on the chin he could feel the beginnings of a bruise.

He was no longer watching her, instead judging the distance to the bed and his duffel bag where he'd find his Vicodin. Focused on that, he was unaware that she was rising and reaching for the door behind him. The sound of the bolt being thrown pulled him out of his temporary daydream and he turned his head as the door swung open. It hit his shoulder with enough force to knock him sideways and he cursed as he twisted and grabbed at Jamie's ankle. She was already out the door, and again House was left grasping at empty air. She stumbled down the few steps leading into the covered carport, calling out for Indy.

"Come back, you don't know what's out there!" He wanted to add another expletive and knew he would only waste his breath, and also knew she was aware of exactly what was out there. A very large and dangerous threat.

House's stomach clenched in fear, all too aware that the cougar was probably still nearby. He started to search his immediate surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon if needed, cursing Jamie's stubbornness. He frantically pushed clothing off the benches into haphazard piles, and tossed footwear aside, checking below the seats. His search was rewarded with a pair of metal ski poles and a large Magnum flashlight that had a good weight to it, if you wanted to hit someone over the head, but he wasn't sure he wanted to test its effectiveness against an overgrown cat. Still, it was a light, as the grey morning outside couldn't cut through the darkness inside the covered carport..

He got to his feet, grimacing at the pain and wishing he was making the trek to his duffel bag rather than out into the carport. The cold was already sinking into his body and he shivered as he took a tentative step out into the darker room. Jamie had already disappeared behind the tarp and a lone strip of pale light shone where the opening was.

Using the ski pole as a makeshift cane and bracing an arm against the wall, House stepped down with his right leg and gingerly placed it on the next step. He shivered from the cold, his t-shirt offering little protection from the below freezing temperatures and he could feel the moisture already hardening into miniscule icicles inside his nose.

Why the hell was he chasing some crazy lady outside into a blizzard? Especially one who'd gone running after a dog that had been attacked and more than likely killed by a cougar? It would be just as dead later. He was angry that she was stupid enough to chase after Indy, giving no thought to her own predicament, or his. He felt no obligation on his part to repay her for saving his sorry ass, he told himself. But he certainly wasn't too keen on the idea of getting stuck out here by himself, and it gave him something to focus his anger on.

There was a scuffling noise beyond the tarp and a few sharp gasps as if something big was moving close. House gripped the flashlight tighter, raising it above his shoulder and readied it to swing if something should come through the tarp. The noises grew louder and he recognized the grunts as more human and relaxed his stance. The tarp moved in a wavelike motion as something pushed against it then it swayed and opened further as Jamie's butt pushed back into the carport. The falling snow no longer resembled large potato chips tumbling earthward and had turned into a fine powdery mist that swirled and danced about the moving figure.

She was leaning over and pulling a large object, sniffling loudly in between grunts. Her breath was coming out in large grey clouds as she huffed and puffed from the exertion, making House think of the little engine that could. How had she managed to move him, unconscious, any distance when she was struggling so hard with the dog who was a fifth of his weight?

"Help him," she said, dragging the limp animal closer. House could make out a dark trail that stretched out along the grooves carved into the snow where she'd dragged Indy.

Dead animals weren't his thing and he leaned forward, grabbing Jamie's arms, wanting to pull her back inside. She shrugged him off, refusing to let go of the dog and House turned the flashlight on.

Jamie laid Indy at House's feet and dropped to her knees, bending over the unmoving animal. The flashlight beam played over her tear-stained face as it looked up into his. "Do something," she pleaded, holding Indy's head to her chest, the other hand stroking his fur.

The expression of hope on her face sent a wave of helplessness crashing over him. He could see the dark stain spreading outwards from under the animal and in the small circle of light, more of the liquid matted in his fur. House had to look away. It wasn't the thought of death that bothered him, or that of blood, but the idea that she had enough faith in him to think he could work miracles.

He played the light over the dog's head again; sure his imagination was playing tricks on him. But no, there it was again. Indy blinked. And as House shone the light on Indy once more he saw the pupils respond to the light.

"Get him inside, not much I can do out here except freeze my ass off," he said, already ascending the steps that led back to the warmth and his Vicodin.

+++house md+++ house_md+++


	27. Chapter 27

By the time Jamie had wrestled Indy inside, her breathing was labored and beads of sweat dripped off the end of her nose. House was standing next to the kitchen table with a blanket spread out under his feet, shoving his Vicodin bottle into the front pocket of his sweats. He motioned to the blanket. "Bring him over so we can get him up onto the table. Then we can get this dance underway."

Jamie gave him a disbelieving look as she staggered upright after releasing her burden onto the blanket. House reached out with a steadying hand and pulled her to his side, not waiting to see if she would collapse.

"Welcome to House's house of iniquities where the music's fine, liquor flows free, and the ladies are there to entertain." He waited until she lifted her gaze to his. "If you're going to dance with me, I always take the lead, kapeesh?" He saw a small smile tug at the corner of Jamie's mouth and knew she was still coherent and wasn't in shock as he'd first feared.

They grabbed opposite edges of the blanket and on the count of three hoisted Indy onto the table. House was surprised at the weight of the dog, and the makeshift sling bobbed and jerked wildly as the two lifters compensated for their respective injuries. The only sound that issued from the dog was a gurgling noise House attributed to fluid in his lungs. Once the front of his body made contact with the table, House grabbed the rear section of the blanket from Jamie. She had only managed to lift Indy waist high with her injured left shoulder and the determined concentration on her face told House it had taken the rest of her strength to do that.

Now that the patient – House wanted to forget he was referencing a dog – was in place, he began issuing orders, while limping his way into the kitchen. "We'll need lots of: hot water, clean towels, some type of antiseptic, your first aid kit, sheets for bandages, and more light. I hate working in the dark." He soaped up his arms and began scrubbing his hands when he heard a faint reply of "could have fooled me", and was tempted to ask her to repeat it. He chuckled, relieved. If she could still respond with snappy comebacks he didn't have two patients to concern himself with.

He turned to begin the journey back to the table, and Jamie was next to him sliding an arm around his waist, allowing him to lean on her for support. He kept his hands raised with palms facing him as they moved across the room, thinking this was the strangest operating scene he'd been involved in. He wondered how could he turn it into a lecture. Wouldn't Cuddy enjoy this as an academic case study?

He noticed Jamie had managed to change out of her blood-soaked shirt and had lined up most of the things he'd asked for along the edge of the table. She was efficient and seemed to handle emergencies well, despite the random outbursts of stubbornness. She left him beside the table looking down at Indy and trying to assess the damage to the dog and where exactly to start. It wasn't as if he could ask the patient where he was feeling the most pain.

House pulled out his Vicodin bottle and rattled the pills in contemplation as he eyed the dog. "You want the honors?" he asked Jamie, holding the bottle of pills out to her. Jamie looked from the amber bottle he offered, to Indy and then back again, before shaking her head. House nodded once and gripped the bottle, twisting the lid off with his other hand.

"Just a moment." Jamie's hand settled over his forearm before he had a chance to pour the pills into his hand. "I've got something better." She moved to the pantry door, opened it and looked back at House who was watching her, curious as to what she had in mind. He could see the momentary indecision on her face until Indy gave a small whine, drawing her focus to him. She pulled open the hidden doorway set into the side of the pantry and disappeared, quickly reappearing with a grey box the size of a trade paperback in her hands.

House's curiosity piqued as her fingers dialed the combination lock on the front of the box and set the open container in front of him. Why hadn't he found that little treasure box earlier and more importantly, why did she have it hidden in her home?

He ran his fingers over the contents of the container. All too familiar with the set up laid out before him, it was a reminder of his own hidden stash of morphine, high atop the bookcase in his apartment. Pulling out the large syringe, he gave Jamie an even stare. "What other little secrets are you hiding?" he asked, aware that she couldn't or wouldn't meet his gaze, though more color came into her cheeks and she bit her lower lip.

"It isn't important," she said, wringing out a wet cloth and wiping at some of the blood matted in Indy's fur, refusing to look at House. "Just do whatever you can to help him."

House decided he would pursue the matter later, and set about readying the morphine. "Cue the music Maestro," he prompted as the needle sunk into the fur pinched between his fingers. Laying the needle aside he gave Jamie a wink. "Tango or samba? And watch the toes." Then he leaned over his patient to begin the work ahead.

What seemed like hours later, House tied off the last stitch. Or at least what he hoped was the last stitch. Jamie wiped a cool cloth across his forehead as he stood up, feeling cramping in his lower back from the strain of bending forward for such a long length of time. He mumbled a thanks, and Jamie pushed lightly on his shoulder, directing him to sit down into the chair she'd slid behind him.

He watched the steady rise and fall of Indy's chest, the dog's eyes still closed and knew the rest of his recovery was out of his hands. Jamie moved about gathering up the discarded and soiled towels and what few instruments they'd used, tossing them into a boiling pot on the stove. House swallowed more Vicodin and closed his own eyes, leaning his head back.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

Wilson jumped at the shrill ring of the telephone and nearly dropped the laptop reaching back to silence the loud intruder. "H-hello," he stammered, disappointed when the baritone voice he had been expecting – hoping – came across as Cuddy instead.

"I thought I would find you there. You're not answering your cell," she admonished.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He pulled out his cell phone and as he looked at the blank screen realized that his battery was dead. He'd once again forgotten his charger back at his apartment in his haste to get to House's.

"I'm guessing you still haven't heard from House?"

"Nope, the prodigal hasn't phoned home yet. I did manage to discover his whereabouts up until last Wednesday evening." He paused, wondering how much to share with her.

"This is going to explain the reason for you canceling your appointments and asking Doctor Chadwick to cover your cases for a few days?" Wilson cringed at the authoritative tone, knowing he should have cleared his decision with Cuddy first.

"I've got a hunch I want to follow up on, and I can't just sit around worrying about him while doing nothing." He waited for the tirade, but none came.

"You're not the only one concerned. House is already missing in action, and I can't afford to have another of my top physicians disappearing on me."

Wilson nodded in agreement even though Cuddy couldn't see him through the phone line. "I'm taking the weekend off to follow up on a couple of things, and I promise to stay in touch," he added, hoping to placate her, then explained his findings of House renting a motorcycle in California and riding it to Washington State. "I've checked his bank statement and the last transaction recorded was at a truck stop in Libby, Montana, late last Wednesday evening. There's been no activity on his card since then and I've already checked with all the hospitals in the area, at least the one's I can contact."

"Montana? Isn't that where the national weather bureau is claiming the blizzard of the century is happening? What the hell would he be doing there?"

"I don't know, but that's what I'd like to find out," Wilson explained before Cuddy could question him further. "I've already arranged a meeting with a private investigator in Billings and will go from there."

"How is meeting with a PI going to help if he's holed up in a hotel somewhere, waiting out the storm?"

Wilson let out a long breath, having asked himself the same thing. "If he was holed up in a hotel, he would have contacted me, somehow." It sounded even lamer spoken aloud and he was suddenly convinced Cuddy would try to talk him out of his hastily made plans.

"Just be careful," she said. He could hear the resignation in her voice.

"One last thing," Wilson spoke quickly before Cuddy had a chance to hang up, "Would you give Doctor Cameron my apologies for being brusque with her last night, and tell her thanks for the information?"

Cuddy assured him she'd see to it and rang off. Wilson closed the laptop and took a long look around the apartment, noting there was already a fine layer of dust covering the top of the piano. He shivered at the idea of the room remaining forever empty. He stood quickly, resolving that wouldn't happen, and let himself out of the apartment. He turned the lights off and locked the door behind him, checking his watch he had just enough time to throw some clothes into a suitcase and get to the airport for his flight. He pulled the collar of his coat up and hurried to his car.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

"He's dead."

House's eyes snapped open at her quiet declaration, his eyes immediately taking in the table and patient lying in front of him. Indy's chest still rose and fell in an even pattern and House could feel his own heart beat start up again at the comforting sight. He turned his head and found Jamie kneeling before the stove with the door open and holding a piece of wood on her lap. She gazed at the fire or beyond it, he couldn't tell which.

"Who's dead?" he finally managed to ask, concerned that maybe she was suffering from delayed shock.

"The cougar's dead. I saw him lying in a heap, not moving, when I went outside to find Indy," she said almost mechanically, continuing to stare at the fire.

House roused himself from the chair, grimacing as his lower back and right thigh protested the movement. Stiff joints and sore muscles were his reward for playing the Good Samaritan, and he swallowed a couple Vicodin wanting nothing more than to lie down and take a long nap.

"Indy's going to be all right," he assured her, knowing it was what she wanted to hear, even if it might not be the truth. House had no way of knowing if he'd managed to stop all the bleeding, or if the animal's injuries went deeper than he'd been able to address.

"Is he?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. "They all die," she said in a quiet voice, one barely above a whisper and reached out to put the wood she was holding into the stove. With careful deliberation she poked the embers and burnt pieces around until the flames were blazing around the added piece and closed the door.

The matter of fact way that she spoke sent a chill through House, despite the interior's warm temperature. "Jamie," he spoke her name softly to draw her attention. She was now staring at her palms, open and resting on the top of her thighs.

"I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save him."

"Indy's right there, on the table, breathing's even and he's still sleeping under anesthesia. He'll be fine," he urged, wanting her to believe him. Her actions were beginning to spook him. It took a lot of effort to kneel on the floor next to her, and House took her hands in his and tried to get her to look at him. "Jamie, look at me, everything is going to be okay." He could see tears trailing down her cheeks and her eyes still staring off into the distance. He lifted a hand to her cheek and turned her head, forcing her to face him, relieved when her eyes focused on his.

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling her hands away and wiping her tears as she turned her head. House gently forced her to look at him again, capturing her face between his palms. She closed her eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted knowing she'd have to try harder to get rid of him.

"Talk to me," he said, not letting her move away from him. She grasped his wrists as if to pull away from his touch but he refused to budge. "I'm not letting you up until you tell me what you were talking about." She shook her head only managing to squish her cheeks against his palms making her resemble a chipmunk as he made good on his threat.

"Let me go and I'll tell you," she finally relented.

House shook his head. "Nope, the deal is you tell me what I want to know and then I'll let you go."

She stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest as if to say she'd wait him out and he could feel her jaw tighten under his touch. "Bastard," she said with little intent.

House grinned and leaned forward, kissing her. She pulled back in surprise, almost toppling them both.

"What was that for?"

"To let you know I'm not going anywhere."

"What does it matter?" she asked, finally pulling out of his grasp and scooting further away from him.

He dropped his arms and shrugged. "You can't save the world, no matter how hard you try, but that doesn't mean you have to go live in a cave and pretend the world doesn't exist. That won't stop you from getting hurt."

"What do you know about it?" she sniffed, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"I know you're an intelligent woman with a gift that's decided living the life of a hermit is somehow better than facing a few rough spots in life," he countered.

"You don't know anything about me," she argued, getting to her feet and turning her back to him.

"Run away," he said. "You're good at that, aren't you? Just like your brother?" She whirled around so fast with her fists clenched at her sides, eyes flashing, and he flinched at the force of her emotion. She didn't move to help as he struggled to his own feet, and then it was his turn to turn his back on her as he hobbled slowly to the bed. As he reached the side of the bed, she was suddenly there, helping to lower him to the mattress. She sat down beside him, shoulders slumped and playing with her hands while avoiding looking at him.

"How'd you find out?" she asked, after he'd decided she had clammed up again. He rubbed unconsciously at his thigh.

"I discovered your secret room in the pantry when you were out the other day."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

House shrugged. He wasn't sure how to begin telling her that learning her secret had been enough to sate his curiosity, at least for the time being. He also couldn't explain his reticence to lose her trust in him. Luckily for him, she changed the subject.

"How'd you find out? About the other room?"

"Your radio antenna goes into the wall instead of into the ceiling where there is insulation, therefore there had to be another room or some type of storage area behind that wall." She nodded, critically surveying the give-away black snake of antenna disappearing into the upper wall. "And," he said, testing the waters to find out if she'd open up to him, "I knew I'd heard the name Kendra someplace." Again she nodded, still twisting her fingers together in her lap.

He took the hand rubbing his thigh and placed it over her hands to stop her fidgeting. She stilled and continued to stare down at where their hands were now joined. She inhaled deeply and let out a long slow breath as if gathering her thoughts or readying herself for an unpleasant task. House dared a sideways glance trying to read her reaction and was somewhat relieved to find resignation, rather than anger, clouding her features.

House removed his hand from her lap and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, lifting his chin as he pulled her to his chest, then laid his cheek on the top of her head. She didn't resist for which he was thankful, because he had no more strength with which to fight her.

"Your father was a genius," he mumbled into her hair, pulling back when she snorted with derision.

"My brother was the genius," she corrected him. "My _father_ deserved what he got." Her words were clipped and brutal. And House, lacking any feelings towards his own father, was surprised that her words brought to him a mental picture of her handling the knife that her brother had used to stab their father with. "But of course the newspapers made Theo out to be the monster, and him the unfortunate victim."

House tried to recall the few snippets of news stories he'd heard or read at the time, and could only piece together one or two details. Most of the versions claimed the internationally-awarded composer had been killed by his distraught son, who'd never recovered from their mother's suicide. The son had then compounded the tragedy, committing suicide himself. He did remember one television program that had shown a few family photos at the time. It was a documentary on celebrity deaths, and his only recollection upon seeing the photos, four seemingly happy people, was his curiosity as to whatever became of the survivor in such a situation. His answer was currently wrapped in his arms and trying to bury her face in his shirt.

House reached for a couple of pillows to place under his head as he lay back, pulling Jamie with him. He wiped the tears he could reach with his thumb, his other hand rubbing small circles over her side. "Tell me what happened," he coaxed, not entirely sure he was ready to hear about her history, but willing to listen. He glanced across at the sleeping form still lying atop the table before settling back to give Jamie his full attention.

tbc….


	28. Chapter 28

Jamie snuffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before resting her palm flat on House's chest. "Why do you care?"

His answer was automatic. "I don't." It wasn't until the words were out that he realized he had spoken them aloud. He opened his eyes, expecting her to push away from him in anger and mentally kicked himself when her body began to jerk in his arms. Anger would have been preferable to more sobbing he mused, steeling himself against a mounting awkwardness. House tried to distance himself from people in need of comfort, not being the type to offer platitudes or empty promises of hope, but then he'd brought this situation upon himself. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then opened it again before recognizing the distinct sounds of laughter.

He lifted his head in surprise, as Jamie wiped away more tears. Yes, she was laughing. Laughing so hard that she was holding her stomach and bouncing against him while tears streamed from her eyes and she gasped for breath. Her laughter was contagious, and House found himself fighting a grin, and then soon he was unable to stop his own laughter, in much smaller bursts than hers, but it felt good. Tension and stress drained from his body, and he ignored the dull pain in his midsection as his sore ribs protested the action.

"Oh God," she gasped, wiping away more tears, "I could have saved a lot of money if a shrink had told me that," she said, sniffing loudly as she fought for control. She pushed away from him to dab at her eyes with the hem of her shirt and he issued a grunt as her motion sent a sharp pain through his ribs. Jamie gave him a look of apology before lowering her eyes to the uneven layering under his clothing that bulged with bandages from his injuries. She placed her open palm over his ribs, letting it rest lightly, and he was thankful she didn't utter the word 'sorry'. Her hand was warm, even through the bandage, and he brought his own hand up to cover hers in an assurance she'd done no further damage.

He let his other hand slide down her back, his fingers following the muscled groove along her spine and then slipped his palm under her shirt when she sat up again, feeling the warmth of bare skin as he snaked his hand over her. With a little stretching he managed to slide his hand around her waist and urged her body down next to his. She didn't resist. House turned his head to rest his cheek against the top of her head and smiled as he caught the faint fragrance of wild strawberries.

Jamie let out an extended breath, whether relief or exhaustion, after having laughed so hard and snuggled against him. He tried to recall from his multiple psychology classes if it was a good or bad thing to switch between conflicting emotions so rapidly in the space of a few minutes. People were susceptible to handling stress in numerous ways, and to different degrees, but he wasn't exactly sure how to interpret Jamie's sudden reversal of emotions. He finally convinced himself to chalk it up to shock. A lot had happened the past few hours and a second meeting with the cougar would have probably turned most women, if not a few men, into babblers.

He absently rubbed a circular pattern over her side, lost in his own thoughts.

There was so much he wanted to know about the woman lying next to him. Not only about her family, but what made her tick as an individual. She intrigued him; something he'd only experienced a few other times in his life when it came to people. He'd already seen many facets of her personality and she wasn't just another puzzle. A puzzle he could have dealt with using a few short, well-directed questions and discovered the entire story, sating his innate curiosity. Even so, there lurked a much deeper thought, one that he wasn't ready to explore at this time. Instead he found himself entertaining the idea of how to spend more time with Jamie, if they got out of their current predicament. _When_ he corrected himself. When they got out of this mess.

He let a few moments of silence stretch between them, listening as her breathing evened out and her body stopped shuddering. He dared a glance at her to see if her eyes were closed; suddenly afraid that maybe she had fallen asleep and would leave him with a myriad of unanswered questions.

He relaxed when he saw her staring at the wall, a long-distance look in her eyes. He instinctively knew her thoughts were further away than the cabin they were stuck in, and once again he was at a loss. Could he broach the sensitive subject of her family without sounding like a complete ass, as Wilson's voice in his head was quick to point out he did on a regular occurrence, or should he be content with what he had already surmised?

Jamie spoke softly, breaking the silence, as if reading his thoughts.

"The only thing I learned from the psychiatrists was that I'd never have definitive answers as to why. No matter how many questions I could dream up to ask." He felt her shoulder lift in a shrug. "Chalk up the experience to a lousy childhood," she said, her voice sounding tired and distant.

"Your thought, or theirs?"

"Mine. After all, the facts were there. You couldn't dispute what had taken place, even if the authorities didn't believe my brother acted out of self-defense." Jamie placed a hand over her face as if trying to block out the memory. "I was luckier than most," she finished, her voice muffled under her palm.

House kept his mouth closed not wanting to refute her statement while at the same time not entirely sure he was part of the same conversation. How did she figure she was luckier than most? She'd lost her entire family within a few months and grown up with scandal following her the rest of her life. In House's book that didn't make her lucky at all.

"I made peace long ago with that particular time in my life." To House the statement sounded like a well-practiced mantra that fell flat without any conviction behind it.

"It's funny though," she said, her index finger marking small circles on his chest as her attention focused nearer. "No one else wants the past to be buried. They'd rather dig it up like some overzealous archaeologist excavating for lost treasure, place it under a microscope to study it from all angles, and then put it on display for everyone to view and speculate about." There was an edge of bitterness in her tone, a warning perhaps to drop the subject. House cringed a little, thinking of all the Hollywood gossip rags he'd read and knew her comment to be only too true.

House declined to put his thoughts into words, instead forcing himself to think about how it felt to hold someone close again. "You don't want to discuss the past, I'm good with that," he tossed out.

"Now who's the bad liar?" She'd pegged him. Busted. But he didn't have to acknowledge it. "You've been through the newspaper clippings and scrapbooks in my office – you obviously have no compunction about spying on folks. You've discovered some of my history, and you don't have any questions?" she asked.

And all this time he'd thought he'd been careful about putting everything back the way he'd found it.

Her eyes were on him, studying his face intently as she awaited an answer. She was wrong. He was well versed in the ability to stretch the truth to meet his own agenda. Not to mention that a part of his conscience – the one that most folks listened to – in his case seemed to talk in a whisper he could easily ignore. But then he also knew what it felt like to have someone poke and prod at your past in an attempt to reveal hidden secrets. That he understood too well.

"There are several questions I wouldn't mind posing, just call me Mortimer1." He grinned in response when she groaned at his vague reference. "I'm also fine if you don't want to discuss it. Really I am—what's that look for?"

"But?"

House returned her blunt gaze, afraid she really could read his thoughts. "But… I want to know everything about you. I want to hear about your first scraped knee after falling off a bicycle. I want to know about your first kiss, about the first book you couldn't dare to put down until you'd finished, the first time you snuck out of the house late at night." House resisted the urge to blurt out the myriad other little things he wanted to know and come across sounding like an adolescent idiot: instead settling for the obvious.

"I want to know who you couldn't save." House shook his head when she opened her mouth to object, placed his forefinger over her lips, and held her gaze forcing her to look away first. "You said you'd tell me, and that's what I want to know." He pulled away from her and sat up, pushing off the bed with a grunt of effort. He wanted nothing more than to lie back down and fall asleep. The sudden loss of her warmth in the cold room almost convinced him to return to the bed.

House was finding it increasingly difficult to rein in his desire to dig and dig until he knew everything there was to know about Jamie. This situation was only temporary, he chided himself. It was convenient for both of them, and given any other time or place they'd have nothing to say to each other. But being stuck in close quarters with another individual, especially one that had saved your life, gave a new meaning to the term survival. He was only making the best of the situation, he assured himself.

"Get comfortable while I check on Indy," he said, hobbling towards the kitchen table. His cane bent under the heavy strain of most of his body weight, his other arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. He'd be content to never go camping another day in his life, once they got out of this he thought, looking over his patient. He turned sideways pretending to check on Indy's sutures and watched as Jamie rearranged the pillows and covers using her good arm. After a few minutes she seemed satisfied with the results and settled back against the headboard, pulling the covers up to her chin. House was suddenly struck with the impression of a lost child and found himself wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and promise to keep her safe. He shook off the feeling and concentrated his efforts again on his sleeping patient.

House was content that Indy seemed to be breathing better. A bit shallower than he'd have liked, but steady, and the raspy liquid sound was barely noticeable. Then again he didn't have that much experience with the four-legged variety of patient and could only hope he'd done more good than harm to the animal.

The last thing House did before returning to the bed was to stoke the fire and snag the bottle of whiskey and his Vicodin. Sleep was next on the agenda, Doctor's orders.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

Wilson stepped off the plane ducking his head and pulling the collar of his coat tighter against the frigid temperatures that assaulted him. He marveled at the idea of having to walk across a small stretch of tarmac to reach his destination. The airport labeled itself an International airport and consisted of only seven terminals that he could see. Maybe there were more that couldn't be seen. His eyes teared in protest against the bitter winds and he rushed toward the open glass doorway with his fellow passengers. Once out of the buffeting winds he slowed his pace, shaking off the powdery snow that clung to him, and stomped his feet as if that might restore some warmth to his limbs.

He made his way through the stagnant crowds of people, most of whom waited for delayed departures or rescheduled flights. Some stood at the windows watching crews scramble outside de-icing the planes and running snowplows in a constant battle to keep a few of the runways operational. Courtesy of the weather he was seven hours later than scheduled. He consulted his watch, and turned his cell phone on checking to see if he'd received any messages. The yellow light blinked a negative response to any incoming calls. He thrust the phone into his coat pocket and pushed his way to the signs and stairs heralding luggage pickup.

This was definitely one of the smallest 'international' airports Wilson had ever seeen. Four baggage carousels, of which three stood vacant and empty, were housed on the ground floor at what appeared to be the far end of the building. Unless there were other buildings beyond the wall of darkness just outside the large picture windows, he couldn't understand how they had given such significance to an insubstantial location. Billings, Montana claimed the largest population of the state at approximately 137,000 residents.

Wilson pulled his eyes away from the visitor information board as the black snake of the carousel groaned behind him and began spitting out luggage.

"Doctor Wilson?"

Lifting the handle on his rolling suitcase, Wilson found himself facing a man in his mid-sixties, if the crop of white hair and crows feet around his eyes were anything to go by. The man pulled off a glove and stuck his hand out. "Rawlings," he said by way of introduction, and Wilson's jetlagged brain managed to connect the name to the private investigator he'd hired. As if to answer Wilson's unanswered question, "You're in a group photo with the doctor you've asked me to locate."

"Right, right." Wilson nodded, shaking the proffered hand. "I hadn't expected anyone to meet me with all the delays."

Rawlings shrugged, giving Wilson a quick once over as if debating the sincerity of his words. "Seemed like you were in a hurry to find your friend, and I took the liberty of booking us a motel in Bozeman. Normally it's less than a two hour drive, but with the weather conditions, well, let's just say we'll get there when we get there."

"I'm not familiar with Montana, Mr. Rawlings," Wilson said, feeling completely out of his element and unsure of what he had gotten himself into. Before he could continue to voice any protests the other cut in.

"I prefer Allen or Al, if you don't mind, it's a lot less formal and most folks I know still refer to my father as Mr. Rawlings." He nodded in response when Wilson reciprocated with James. Before Wilson could protest, Allen picked up Wilson's suitcase, nodded towards the front glass windows and led the way towards the revolving doorway that showered them in a blanket of heat before depositing them back into frigid temperatures. Following Allen's steps through a foot of fresh snow he understood now why the man had foregone pulling the suitcase behind. It would have only proven a detriment trying to maneuver it through the ploughed slush that grooved the two lane road in front of the airport.

Wilson's teeth were chattering by the time they reached Allen's vehicle, a black Nissan Pathfinder with a dark metal truck plow on the front, and Wilson was only too happy to jump in and the and shut the door, blocking out the wind and snow. Allen opened the rear hatch and placed Wilson's luggage between two large military duffel bags.

Allen handed Wilson a small foldout map of the state when he settled into the driver's seat. "We shouldn't have too much trouble staying to the main interstates," he said, starting up the engine.

Wilson assumed Allen had been sitting in the short-term parking lot with the engine running while waiting for his plane to land, as the heater roared to life blasting out a welcome of warm air. He just hoped the hourly charges weren't applied to that extra time.

"We'll make a quick stop on the other side of town, fuel up and I'm thinking you're probably hungry?" Allen said, putting the car into gear and slowly winding his way through the maze of haphazardly parked vehicles toward the ticket booth. That was always the way it was, Wilson noted. Without marked lines people were incapable of parking in neat and tidy rows. He looked over the map as Allen handed the bundled agent the ticket and a twenty, quickly rolling his window up and waving off the change.

"Bozeman is east," Wilson said, feeling his cheeks flush as he was sure that Allen was more than familiar with the area and hadn't needed the fact pointed out to him. He was about to explain what he'd meant when Allen cut in with a low good-natured chuckle.

"You're right. But like I was telling you, the main interstates are going to be our only means of travel unless you're willing to jump on a sno-cat and head across country." Allen grinned as if sharing a joke and winked to let Wilson know he didn't take the unspoken rebuttal seriously. He leaned towards Wilson, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to point out Great Falls. "We'll be there mid-afternoon or early evening tomorrow if the weather holds." He concentrated once more on his driving while Wilson trailed his finger from Bozeman northward to the new location, following clearly defined interstate.

"Airforce Base located just outside of Great Falls, partly why the roads will remain open, that and not much stops folks use to a little bad weather." He nodded towards the windshield where most of the traffic was blurred behind a wall of falling snow, the wipers fought to keep up with. "Weather reports claim a warm front is coming in and the snow will be letting up this evening," Allen finished.

Wilson was amazed as the vehicle dropped down a steep hill and offered a view of the city lights encased in a muted yellow dome of color over the flattened landscape. It was an eerie picture reminding him of the snow globes you shook and watched as tiny snowflakes settled over the scene. The only difference was this globe was a lot bigger and there seemed no end to the snow. The rest of the landscape was a blur of dark grays fading into blackness and he suddenly felt trapped. House was somewhere out there in that black expanse, and Wilson could only hope his friend was safe.

tbc...

_1 Brigadier Sir Robert Eric Mortimer Wheeler (10 September 1890 – 22 July 1976), was one of the best-known British archaeologists of the twentieth century._

AN: Just a word of thanks for all the positive reviews and encouragement, they mean a lot to me. And to answer the most pressing question...yes, I will continue this story to its ending. gina


	29. Chapter 29

Jamie accepted the bottle of liquor and shook her head at the amber pill bottle. "That makes my head all fuzzy," she said by way of explanation. Both lids came off simultaneously with a harmonic pop. House tipped a couple of the pills into his cupped hand as Jamie took a small drink from the bottle. She shook her head again, pushing his hand away when he held out his open palm offering two white pills.

"Don't worry, it's not a truth serum," he said, settling slowly onto the bed before trying to hand her the pills again. Her fingers wrapped over his and closed his hand pushing the pills away before she took another drink. He watched her grimace as she swallowed a large amount of the whiskey. He pulled at the blankets in an attempt to cover most of his body, and couldn't help smiling when she moved closer. "Damn, if I'd have known you were going to be that easy."

"Body heat," she answered dismissively, taking yet another long pull. This time she closed her eyes and House had the impression she was trying to gather courage from the liquid spirits. He gently pulled the bottle from her grasp and downed the two pills he held, knowing there was more than enough Vicodin already circulating through his system. He was hoping for a few hours of unconsciousness, if nothing else to escape the nagging pain and ever present cold. On the other hand, the part of him that shared her warmth was sending a different type of pleasant sensation through his body.

"You must think I'm pathetic."

House gave a snort, enjoying the fact the Vicodin dulled the ache in his ribs when his stomach muscles contracted. "Yeah, really pathetic – rescuing me out of a below-freezing snow storm and then fighting off a cougar with your bare hands. Feel like taking on a new job as my scrub nurse?" House quipped, absconding the whiskey bottle from her once more.

Jamie burst out laughing, her entire body bouncing with mirth and an elbow catching his tender side.

"Ow, watch the ribs," he snapped, rubbing the sore spot and instantly sorry when the sound of her laughter ended abruptly. She sat up to give him some additional room. As the distance between their bodies increased the temperature dropped a few more degrees.

Becoming more serious Jamie continued. "I was thinking more the helpless woman trapped in a cabin," she said, shaking her head as House gave one last effort to push the Vicodin on her. "I told you, they make my head fuzzy." This time she turned her body slightly and House looked down at the amber pill bottle between his fingers. The typed words on the label fuzzy in the dim lighting, although he could recite them verbatim.

"Maybe a bit of fuzzy wouldn't be a bad thing." He tended to live on the edge of fuzzy. Not necessarily by choice, but the constant need to keep the life encompassing pain at bay forced him to skirt the fine line between reality and misery.

"It would be when I wound up drunk and naked," she said, swiping the bottle. "You'd like that."

"Damn right I'd like it, but you're never really naked, are you?"

Jamie rubbed the thick padding of gauze encircling her forearm. "Well aside from a few bandages—"

"Hmm, no, I was thinking more the mental armor than the ace bandages."

"And here I thought doctors were happy to stitch their patients up and let them go home, but you'd rather dig under the old scars." Anyone else would have flinched, but House was never one to sidestep the obvious.

"Always."

"Do you _always_ think you can fix everything?" she asked with a glance sideways.

House leaned closer, already missing her warmth. "Not everything," he mused, "one can't always fix everything." He shook his head, setting the pill bottle down onto the nightstand.

"I thought I could," she said and then paused. The next words came out so quietly, House had to strain to catch them. "A long time ago, that is." She was picking at the coverlet, one knee pulled up to her chest.

House scooted closer, wrapping her in a hug from behind and dropped his own voice to just above a whisper. "Tell me more."

Jamie picked up the bottle sitting between them and eyed the contents left in the bottom. The amber liquid swirled against the sides of the container as she rolled her wrist. She took a deep breath. "You really don't want to hear my pitiable tale. After all," she said with a hint of dare, "you don't care, remember?"

"You're right, I'd much rather watch Desperate Housewives, but our entertainment options are limited here, so you're it. In the words of the philosopher Cobain – here am I now entertain me."

Jamie put the bottle to her lips and slowly tipped it upwards. House felt the world slow as he watched the dark liquid slide through the neck and touch her lips. She sipped a small portion before giving the bottle up and then ran her tongue over her lips and grew pensive. House fought the urge to turn her head towards him and run his own tongue over her wetted lips.

"I loved him." The hushed statement came as more of a confession than the beginning of a story, and House kept his eyes forward, not daring to move and break the stillness that seemed to surround them as she finished with, "and then I hated him." Her voice held both bitterness and sorrow, and the emotions battled together turning it huskier. When she didn't expound further, House prompted her.

"Who, your brother, Theo?" Jamie responded with a shake of her head and House frowned, thinking back through the news articles he'd read and almost dreading she would say her father. The answer surprised and confused him even further.

"No, not Theo. Heath. I forgave Theo a long time ago for abandoning me, although I really believe he thought he was freeing me from my Father's grasp. I figure you'd understand that better than most."

"Me?" How was he suppose to understand?

Jamie nodded and sent a cold shiver through him with her next statement. "An abusive father who demanded his own specific ideals of perfection." House cast his mind back, unsure of his ramblings when he'd been feverish and opted to plead the fifth if she asked about his past. "After our Mother's death, Theo threatened to kill him." She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest, dropping her chin onto his arms. "After the funeral, we were eating dinner and the neighbor had stepped into the kitchen. Theo pointed at Father and said 'I'll make you pay for Mother.' Father just laughed, like he'd heard the punch line to a funny joke." House imagined the scene as he thought about the confrontations with his dad, wishing him dead more than a few times but never saying it aloud.

Her voice broke back into his reverie. "That evening when I was asleep, Father put him in the hospital. Theo was in a coma for two weeks. And the police believed the story my Father told them, that Theo was so overcome with grief over Mother's death he had tried to take his own life. I knew better. But no one asked me, no one listened." Her body tensed at the recollection, a small girl alone in and adult world. She wiped tears away with the back of her writs. "Who's going to believe a child?" she whispered, rocking back and forth with small movements.

House waited a moment, letting her gather her thoughts. "What happened then?"

"Sir Edward Langdon stepped in and changed the course of my life. He convinced my Father to allow me to attend the Royal Academy of Music along with Theo. I think Father was happy to be rid of me."

"You were a child prodigy?"

"No," she chuckled, thinking about it. "Theo was the prodigy; he could play anything just by listening to it once. We used to play a game where I'd make up a tune and hum it, and then he'd play it back to me. It was like an entire orchestra resided in his mind and music just tumbled out of him." Her body relaxed against him as she talked about her brother. "I was more of the Wooster to his Jeeves."

It was House's turn to chuckle. "Comic relief?"

She nodded, smiling at the memories. "Pretty much." She paused, tilting her head to look back at him with knitted brows.

"I can't believe you quoted Nirvana."

Deflection he thought, and answered without missing a beat. "Even harder to believe an Eagles' fan has heard of them."

Then she grew somber. "When Theo graduated, he made good on his promise." A small sob escaped and Jamie held her breath then let it out slowly, attempting to keep her feelings reined in. House pulled her closer, offering what little comfort he could against the painful memories she relived.

Life sucked he would have told most folks, but he kept his thoughts to himself in this instance. He couldn't begin to imagine what he would have done in her shoes at that age. First, losing her mother, and then a few short years later her brother killing their father and then committing suicide. One couldn't help but be scarred mentally from such a tragedy.

Again the silence lengthened between them and House gently prodded. "Then what?" he asked, hoping she'd continue the story, and willing her to accept his small bit of offered comfort. It was one thing he lacked, a natural ability for Wilson, and tried to imagine what his friend would do in this circumstance. He fought exhaustion and his eyelids grew heavy as the Vicodin worked its spell on his body.

"Then I should have become a ward of the court, an orphan, just another kid lost in the system. Instead I learned that money has its privileges and went to live with Sir Edward's family, as more of a companion to their son, Heath, yet they never treated me as anything less than a daughter."

"You've mentioned him before."

Jamie frowned. "Heath?"

House shook his head. "Mmhm, Sir Edward."

"He sponsored both Theo and I at the academy. We couldn't afford the outrageous tution, even though Father lived beyond his means. Theo was granted a full scholarship and I supplemented mine by helping in the kitchen. Sir Edward sat on the board and was influential in how scholarships were awarded. His son Heath loved music and he and Theo were good friends, practically inseperable, until Heath was diagnosed with leukemia. He never returned to school and shortly thereafter Theo graduated." Jamie grew silent and House mulled over what she'd told him thus far.

He started with a jerk realizing he'd nearly dozed off. Stifling a yawn he mumbled an apology.

"And here I thought it was only my humming that would put you to sleep," she said, fighting off her own yawn in response to his. "At least you're not snoring."

"Give me a few minutes, but finish first. Otherwise I'll be making up my own conclusions." The days exertions, fueled with the Vicodin and alchohol were combining to pull him into the inviting embrass of sleep. He heard Indy's labored breathing and gave a moments thought to checking on the dog, then mentally shrugged. He didn't want to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed and Jamie. Let nature take her course, he'd done what he could and reiterated to himself the words he'd spoken earlier to Jamie. One can't always fix everything.

"Not much left to tell. A diagnosis of Lukemia usually doesn't come with a long term warranty." House felt Jamie shudder in his arms. "I'm sorry," he said, nuzzling her neck and meaning the words. Standing on the sidelines and watching a disease like that take the life of a loved one was a tough break for anyone to go through and not come out unscathed he knew.

Jamie shrugged as if she could push away the past in a quick movement. "Heath introduced me to computer design and how to integrate music with them. I was designing a program that would allow him to enjoy the freedom he didn't have lying there in bed waiting for a disease to take him." She swiped at the fresh tears running down her cheeks. "It's just so god-damned unfair," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yep," he agreed and squeezed harder, nuzzling her neck and wanting somehow to erase all the hurt.

Lowering her knees, she squirmed against him until she was comfortable and leaned her head back against his shoulder. Her gaze roaming the dark corners of the room and finally settling on the inert figure of the dog. "I'm tired."

"Me too," House admitted, although he wasn't sure if they were speaking metaphorically, physically or both. "Why?" The question spoken aloud startled him as much as it did her. She turned with a questioning look, their breath touching eath others faces.

"Why what?" Her voice was now a small whisper as he watched her lips move.

There was more than one question he wanted to know the why to. Why was she hiding out in the frozen north? Why was she still trying to run from her past? Why had she given up her dreams? Why had she rescued him? All of these questions ran through his mind as she turned back.

"Can we finish this in the morning," she asked her words tumbling together, "I'm wiped." She closed her eyes, whether from exhaustion, physically and now emotionally drained or wanting to stop him from prying further.

He settled on exhaustion as he lacked the energy to add anything more. His mind hurriedly following the lethargy that was stealing through his limbs. He understood the reasons why she felt compelled to save the world and for now he was content with the knowledge she'd rescued him, but wondered how he would save her. Then sleep stole over him and he failed to notice that Jamie was already snoring softly.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

Wilson had grown tired of snow. Watching nothing but white streaks continually bombard them through the front windshield as the SUV covered mile after mile through blankets of white landscape was enough to drive anyone crazy. If he watched the snow too long he felt himself becoming hypnotized by the steady onslaught. Luckily for him, Allen was anything but boring providing Wilson with a brief but thorough history of the area they passed through. Wilson figured most of it was lost on him as continued to worry about his friend.

Allen had managed to track House's route back from the small convenience store in Libby, Montana to California and his premature exit at the medical symposium over two weeks earlier, by following a trail of credit card receipts. He had discovered that House was traveling with a truck driver, according to numerous clerks in different locations. Unfortunately his inquiries into the trucks whereabouts after Libby had proven futile, as no one had any records of the vehicle stopping for gas or having been involved in any accidents since. The last purchase being a coffee, danish and candy bar at the Flying J Truck Stop just on the outskirts of Libby over a week ago.

Wilson still held out a strong hope that House was surviving the storm someplace warm and sheltered and tried not to dwell on the idea of him being stranded somewhere and slowly freezing to death. The further they traveled the less Wilson remained optimistic. There seemed no end to the snow and even the mountains appeared as sinister shadows rising and falling as dark shapes in the distance.

Bozeman had reminded him of his college ski trips, with what he saw of the population roaming about in thick brightly-colored polar jackets with stocking caps and goggles. The majority of vehicles they had passed were either orange snow plows the size of large construction dump trucks or four by fours touting smaller plows on the front. Not that there had been many vehicles on the road. It seemed so desolate and did nothing to lighten his spirits.

After another hour, when it seemed they were meandering pointlessly across a flattened area, he began to notice plowed turnoffs and the frequency of dark blue vans became apparent. Noting his passenger's attention, Allen relayed that the unmarked vans were the Air Force shuttling crew members back and forth between the missile silos and base. Wilson wondered how practical it was to have the vehicles unmarked since they were pretty obvious to begin with. Allen laughed heartily at the observation and replied no one was able to make much sense of why the government did what they did. Then he went on to explain they were nearing Great Falls, and would soon have to decide whether to continue on or spend the night in town and do some more scouting.

Wilson was saved from any decision making at the moment when Allen's cell phone rang. After a brief conversation he hung up and asked Wilson to pull out the travel map. Wilson laid it across his lap and turned on the overhead light to give them a better view. Allen glanced over, pointed to a small town just outside a heavy concentration of green, representing National Forest. Wilson squinted at the name, and sounded it aloud. "Kalispell?"

Allen nodded. "Looks like Doctor House is riding with one John Wilson, from Minneapolis." Wilson shook his head to let Allen know that the name was unfamiliar to him and as far as he knew there was no relation to anyone in his immediate family. "He's got a wife with a bun in the oven waiting for him, and she'd last spoken to him the night your friend made his purchase in Libby. She reported him missing last week when he failed to check in with her again." Wilson felt like he'd been kicked in the gut as he stared silently at the large amount of space between Kalispell and Great Falls. "Looks as if he tried his luck at staying ahead of the storm along highway 2." Allen's voice trailed off, not voicing what both men were thinking.

How much of a chance did two men in a semi stand against the wrath of Mother Nature out in the middle of nowhere? "There are quite a few places they could have turned in on either side of the forest. It's possible they're holed up with no electricity or phone lines, wouldn't surprise me at all in those parts."

Wilson appreciated Allen's vote of confidence in keeping his hopes alive but voiced his own worries. "But how likely is it?" Wilson asked and Allen could only give a small shrug and stare out the window once more. Wilson slowly folded the map into a square, boxing in his destination and noting that though the map had grown smaller in his hands the area he stared at only seemed to grow larger.

"Snows letting up," Allen said and Wilson looked up, unable to discern any difference in the white barrage on the windshield. He sighed, leaned his head back and let his eyes close and tried to imagine his life without House.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

Cuddy looked up at the light tap tap on her office door. It was only mid-afternoon according to the clock on her desk phone, but it felt more like late night and she stifled a yawn as she waved Stacy in. She could read her own worry mirrored in Stacy's face.

"Any word about Greg?" Stacy asked as she took a seat across from Cuddy, setting her briefcase down beside her.

"Nothing yet. Wilson called a couple of hours ago and said he'd check back in this evening." She glanced at the phone again as if expecting it to ring. "He never makes things easy," Cuddy snapped, opening a file folder and pretending she was busy.

Stacy laughed and leaned forward, closing the file. "He never does. But we can only worry so much. I know a great little Italian place around the corner." Cuddy's eyes drifted back towards the phone. "James has your cell. C'mon Lisa, let's get out of here for awhile," she said, standing and waiting for Cuddy to do the same. Reluctantly Cuddy stood and shoved her cell phone into her purse before grabbing her own jacket. "I'll even fill you in on all the gossip from this morning," Stacy added, knowing her friend would be interested in the meeting notes about her top employee.

"You're buying," Cuddy retorted. "He's cost me enough already." Stacy readily agreed and the two women left the office turning a few heads as their laughter followed them out the front doors.

**+++house md+++house md+++**

"You know I could have sworn I parked the snowmobile closer to the door," Mike said, wiping a trickle of sweat off his cheek. Kieran grunted a response and threw a half shovelful of snow towards the top of the ledge, only to watch half of it tumble back down towards his boots. Between the two of them they had only managed to clear away a six foot swatch in front of the station's front door.

"Doubt anybody's going to come knocking soon," Kieran said, heaving another bunch of snow upwards. He leaned an arm on the end of his shovel and eyed Mike. "Explain to me again why we don't have a snow blower? And don't say 'it wasn't in the budget'."

Both men were panting from the exertion and Mike took the opportunity to lean on his own shovel. "Okay," Mike said with a grin, "you were cheaper than a snow blower." He had just wiped his face again when a snowball hit him square in the chest and exploded. He dropped his shovel and bent over to scoop up a handful of snow as another snowball shattered against his shoulder. They laughed hard and shouted nonsense while volleying snowballs at each other; they didn't hear the sound of the engine at first.

Kieran was the first to look up at their wall and say something as Mike pelted him with the last snowball. "What's that noise?" he said, holding a hand up to signal his surrender. Mike pushed up off his knees and pulled his stocking cap off tilting his own head towards the sound.

'Plow's coming," Mike said turning toward the station and disappearing inside. Kieran grabbed both shovels and propped them beside the door taking a couple of the orange and white poles Mike handed him. While Kieran unwrapped the bright orange triangular flag at the end, Mike twisted a couple of the poles together, standing the entire contraption up against the eave. The small flag cleared their mountain of snow by two feet and Mike chuckled as he bent to retrieve two more poles. "I'd say roughly eight and a half feet of snow," he stated, placing the other flag on the opposite side of the door.

"Will that be tall enough?" Kieran asked, having to raise his voice to a shout in order to be heard over the engine noise growing even louder. "And what about the snowmobile?"

The diesel rumble slowed and several smaller engines took up the slack. Mike smiled at Kieran's confusion. They could hear voices shouting and several plumes of snow arced near them, one voice seemed to be coordinating the group and suddenly the wall of snow in front of the two men tumbled outward as a tunnel opened. There were hearty hand-shakes and slaps on the back as Mike greeted the group of rescuers. "Kieran has never seen you boys in action," Mike commented, offering hot coffee and cocoa.

"Aye, we got our own methods of adapting to the environment," offered one of the men. "Long as the wind keeps low, we'll have the entire area traversable come morning."

"Everyone accounted for, Ranger?" interjected another and the talk immediately died down as they waited for his answer. Mike looked to Kieran who glanced quickly at the clipboard.

"Ranger Kendrick checked in a few days ago," he began slowly and heard a few sharp intakes. He knew Jamie was a favorite among the locals and tried not to convey his own fears when he spoke. "It seems she took in a stranger that was stranded, and," here he paused, aware that he had everyone's undivided attention. "And we haven't heard anything since." He turned his head catching Kieran's eye and hoping his subordinate wouldn't add anything.

Mike steeled himself when Kieran opened his mouth. "We've continued monitoring, and from the bad reception it's possible she has a bad connection or maybe lost the antennae," he added lamely. There followed a few muttered responses and Mike hastily assured them that Bill would be checking in on Jamie as soon as was humanely possible. That small bit of information seemed to ease their minds.

"How soon before you're able to get to the lodge?"

"I give it about three or four more hours, long as the weather holds and we don't have another snowfall or the winds kick up." Several heads nodded in agreement.

Mike considered for a moment. "If you would, when you clear out Doc Chamber's place let him know Gloria says there is an injured man that needs his attention."

"Will do, Ranger. We best be off." The men shuffled towards the door pulling on their hats and gloves once more. The self-appointed leader turned back at the door. "Let us know if you hear from Jamie?" Mike nodded his assurance as the man turned and closed the door behind him.

Kieran busied himself cleaning up the extra mugs and mopping up the melted snow puddling on the floor. Mike dropped into the chair and stared at the radio, the euphoria abating as he thought once more of Jamie.

Questions crowded his mind. Each one more fantastical then the next. Was the Blazer she had gone to take a closer look at the same one as the FBI searched for? And what about the man she had taken in? Was that the fugitive or merely a stranded hiker? She'd also mentioned sighting the cougar, and if Robby had hit the animal, how injured was it? Injured enough to claim a carport as its den? He shook himself out of his reverie when Kieran tapped him on the shoulder. A man's voice was coming over the radio. He glanced up at the clock, check-in time. He stood and relinquished the chair to Kieran.

Mike watched the clipboard fill with check marks as folks called in. Their voices sounded eager and hopeful when Kieran relayed the plow was out and making good progress. He wanted to end their short conversations quicker, his impatience rising as the hands of the clock ticked onward. Forty minutes later all but one person had been accounted for. Even the adamant insistence that Bill would make an attempt to reach Jamie on the morrow couldn't raise his spirits or his hopes. Mike could only hope that morning came sooner than it would.

**tbc**


End file.
